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THE 



REMAINS 



OF THE 



REV, JAMES MARSH, IF. D. 

LATE PRESIDENT, 



PROFESSOR OF MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL 
PHILOSOPHY, 

IN THE 

UNIVERSITY OF VERMONT; 



MEMOIR OF HIS LIFE 



Nihil ad ostentationem, omina ad conscientiam referebat. 



BOSTON: 



CROCKER AND BREWSTER, 
1843. 



y 



2» ~ 






Entered according' to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, 

BY CROCKER & BREWSTER, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 



" Sunt qui scire volunt eo fine tantum ut sciant, et turpis curiositas est. 
Et sunt qui scire volunt ut sciantur ipsi, et turpis vanitas est. Et sunt item 
qui scire volunt, ut scientiam vendant, verbi causa, pro pecunia, pro honori- 
bus, et turpis qusestus est. Sed sunt quoque qui scire volunt, ut aedificent, 
et charitas est ; et item qui scire volunt, ut asdificentur, et prudentia est. 
Horum omnium soli ultimi duo non inveniuntur in abusione scientjae, quippe 
qui ad hoc volunt intelligere, ut benefaciant." — St. Bernard. Flores cap. 
196. 



PREFACE. 



As to my own share in the work here presented 
to the public, I should be disposed to say nothing, 
were it not proper for me to give some account of 
the manner in which I have endeavored to dis- 
charge a delicate office of friendship. 

The late Dr. Marsh, near the close of his life, 
committed his papers to my care, with the request, 
that I would select from them such as I might 
think suitable, and cause them to be published. 
He hoped they might be not without use to the 
world ; at least, that they would prove acceptable 
to his friends, and perhaps a source of some little 
benefit to his children. A few of these writings 
were already designed for the press by himself; 
but none of them had, as yet, undergone that re- 
vision and that careful correction, which doubtless 
he would have chosen to bestow on them, had his 
life and health been spared. 

The papers consisted of letters, comprising a 
voluminous and interesting correspondence ; of 
translations, chiefly from German writers on phi- 
1* 



VI PREFACE. 

losophy ; of lectures and fragments relating to the 
several subjects which entered into the author's 
course of instruction ; and of sermons and ad- 
dresses, written by him on various occasions, ordi- 
nary and extraordinary. 

Of the letters, I have inserted several entire, 
and extracts from many more, whenever they 
served to assist me in drawing up the biographical 
memoir. The translations, I have wholly omitted, 
as not coming within the purpose of the present 
publication. Some of the lectures and more im- 
portant fragments have been introduced, and such 
of the discourses, as seemed most fully to embody 
the author's views on subjects in which he felt the 
deepest interest. 

In the arrangement of these papers, I have fol- 
lowed the same order which the author was accus- 
tomed to observe in the instruction of his classes ; 
and I think the careful reader will find no difficulty 
in tracing in it somewhat of a logical connexion. 
The first in the series is the fragment of a letter, 
begun in compliance with the request of a literary 
friend, but I believe never completed, or sent to its 
destination ; and to which I have given its present 
place, as furnishing an appropriate introduction to 
the following essays. The tract on physiology 
claims no other merit or importance than that of 
presenting, in a distinct and lucid manner, the 
main principles which Dr. Marsh regarded as 
lying at the basis of that important science, with 
which he was in the habit of commencing his 
course of philosophy. The views are the same 



PREFACE. Vll 

which may be found hinted at in the writings of 
Coleridge, and which are more fully exhibited in 
the works of Carus, and other German authors. 

The lectures on psychology, w 7 hich follow, are 
complete, so far as they go. I ought, perhaps, to 
say, that the author was never quite satisfied with 
them in their present shape ; and that he was on 
the point of recasting them in an entirely different 
form, when he was arrested by the sudden attack 
of the disease which brought him to the grave. It 
was owing, no doubt, to this dissatisfaction with 
the first part of the lectures, that he could never 
prevail on himself to finish out the sketch as he 
had begun. The latter part of the subject, rela- 
ting to the feelings and to the will, was certainly 
not the least interesting to himself; nay, on some 
accounts, was considered by him as the most im- 
portant of all, from its near connexion with morals 
and religion. I have endeavored, in a measure, to 
supply the deficiency, by inserting the letters 
which come next ; wherein, as also in several of 
the discourses, the views held by the author on the 
subject of the Will, and on the connexion of the 
understanding with the active powers, are discuss- 
ed, and set forth as distinctly as the narrow limits 
he allowed himself, would permit. 

On Metaphysics, or philosophy properly so call- 
ed, where the eminent and peculiar power of Dr. 
Marsh, as an expounder of the highest truths of 
science, chiefly appeared, nothing unfortunately has 
been left by him, except scattered hints, on loose 
scraps of paper, not to be reduced to any form, 



VH1 PREFACE. 

even of aphorisms, which would render them intel- 
ligible to the general reader. In his lectures, Dr. 
Marsh seldom made use of notes, but chose rather 
to trust himself to the fulness of his own mind. I 
have selected the discourses out of a larger num- 
ber, which were written, for the most part, to be 
delivered in the College chapel. They contain 
his views on most of the important subjects, re- 
specting which it is desirable that the views of 
such a man should be known. The sermon on 
Conscience, and the two or three discourses on 
Sin, I think it must be acknowledged, contain a 
developement of principles, fundamental in their 
nature, and direct in their bearing on the most 
essential questions of theology. 

As to the biographical memoir, it aims at noth- 
ing beyond a sketch of the simple incidents in the 
life oCan unpretending scholar and christian. I 
have attempted neither to trace the development 
of his mind, nor to give an exposition of his philo- 
sophical system. The one I leave to some abler 
pen, and refer for the other to his own writings. 
It is enough for me, if I have succeeded in present- 
ing the humbler traits of his meek and gentle 
character, without disparaging its worth by the 
smallness of my offering. 

J. Torrey. 

June 1, 1843. 



CONTENTS 



Preface, 

Memoir, 

Entrance at Dartmouth College, - 

Religious Experience, 

Entrance at Andover, 

Appointment as Tutor at Dartmouth, 

Short Residence at Cambridge, 

Return to Andover, 

I <Review of Ancient and Modern Poetry, 
^^Translation of Bellerman, - 

Journey southward ; introduction to Dr. Rice, 

Visit to Dr. Rice at Richmond, 

Employment at Hampden Sidney College, - 

Return to New England, .... 

Second Residence at Hampden Sidney, 

Return to New England, .... 71 

Appointment as Professor at Hampden Sidney, Ordi- 
nation and Marriage, 73 

Appointment as President of the University of Ver- 
mont, 76 

His Views of Collegiate Education, 78 

Exposition of the Course of Instruction and Disci- 
pline in the University, .... 84 

Death of Mrs. Marsh, - - - - - 86 

Review of Professor Stuart's Commentary on the 
- Epistle to the Hebrews, ... - 87 

Publication of Coleridge's Aids to Reflection, - 91 



Page. 
5 
13 
15 
17 
20 
20 
29 
30 
50 
51 
52 
57 
58 
62 
65 



X CONTENTS. 

Page. 
Publication of Selections from the old English Wri- 
ters on Practical Theology, - - - - 103 
Second Marriage, - -. - - 104 
Resignation of the Presidency, and Acceptance of the 

Chair of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy, - 105 

Publication of Herder's Spirit of Hebrew Poetry, 110 

Studies and Plans as Professor, - - - 110 

Theological Views, - - - - - 119 

Opposition to Evangelism, 125 

Loss of his second Wife, - - - - 128 

Sickness and Death, 130 

Appendix. 

Letter to S. T. Coleridge, - 135 

to a Young Clergyman, - - - - 139 

to Rev. S. G. W. - - - - 140 

to J. M. ------ 143,148 

from Dr. Rice, - - - - - 149 

from Dr. Follen, 151 

from Mr. Gillman, - - - - 153 

from H. N. Coleridge, - - - - 156 

• from Dr. Green, - - - - - 158 



Outlines of a Systematic Arrangement of the Depart- 
ments of Knowledge, with a View to their Organic 
delations to each other in a General System, - 187 

Space, 188 

Time, 190 

Geometry, Chronometry, Permutations, - 193 

Metaphysical Principles of Natural Philosophy, 194 
The Dynamic Theory, - - - - 195 

Distinguishable Powers of Nature, and Laws 

of Action, 197 

Light and Heat, 204 

Electricity, 205 

Crystalization, - - - - - 206 

Organic Life, 206 



CONTENTS. XI 



Remarks on some of the leading points connected with 

Physiology, - - . 211 

Tendency of Inorganic Matter to Spherical 

Forms, 214 

Crystallization, 216 

Organic Life, 218 

Vegetable and Animal Life distinguished, - 224 
Remarks on Psychology. 

Chapter 1. Limits and Method of Psycholog- 
ical Inquiry, 239 

Chapter 2. PreHminary Facts and Distinc- 
tions, 248 

Chapter 3. Additional Eemarks on the Nature 
and Aim of the present Inquiries. Distinc- 
tion of the Powers or Faculties of the Soul, 259 
Chapter 4. Cognitive Faculties, Conscious- 
ness, and Self-consciousness, - - 274 
Chapter 5. The Powers of Sensation, - 286 
Chapter 6. Distinction between Empirical 
and Pure or Mathematical Intuitions of 
Sense; and between what belongs to 
Sense and what belongs to the Higher 
Powers of Understanding and Reason, 302 
Chapter 7. Continuation of the same subject. 

The Inner Sense, and its Objects, - 316 
Chapter 8. Memory, and Power of Associa- 
tion, 327 

Chapter 9. Recapitulation, - - - 342 
Chapter 10. Peculiar Function of the Under- 
standing, 354 

Chapter 11. General Conception of Reason, 
and its relation to the Understanding, 360 

On the Will, as the Spiritual Principle in Man. A 

Letter to a Friend, 368 

On the Relation of Personal Existence and Immortal- 
ity to the Understanding and the Reason, - 391 
Discourse on Conscience, - - - - 398 
Necessary Relation of our Real Purposes to their Le- 



XU CONTENTS. 

Page, 
gitimate Results, under the Divine Government. 
A Sermon on Hypocrisy, .... 423 

Three Discourses on the Nature, Ground, and Origin 
of Sin. 

Discourse 1, ..... 439 

Discourse 2, 468 

Discourse 3, 487 

Discourse on the True Ground in Man's Character 

and Condition, of his Need of Christ, - - 502 

Address at the Inauguration of the Author as Presi- 
dent of the University of Vermont, - - 556 
Discourse at the Dedication of the University Chapel, 
on the Necessary Agency of Religious Truth in the 

Cultivation of the Mind, 585 

Tract on Eloquence, 611 

Tract on Evangelism, - 629 



MEMOIR 



LIFE OF JAMES MARSH, D. D. 



James Marsh, the author of the following Re- 
mains, was born in Hartford, Vermont, July 19th, 
1794. His father, Mr. Daniel Marsh, was a re- 
spectable farmer, a man of plain good sense, and 
the same native sincerity and candor which formed 
so beautiful a trait in the character of his son. 
Joseph Marsh, Esq., the grandfather of James, 
was one of the most active and intelligent among 
the early settlers of Vermont. He came from 
Lebanon, in Connecticut, and established himself 
at Hartford, about the year 1772, shortly after the 
first beginning of the settlements in that quarter 
of the country. Being a man of talents and en- 
terprize, he soon took a prominent part in the po- 
litical concerns of the State, which was then en- 
gaged in its disputes with the various foreign par- 
ties that claimed the right of jurisdiction over the 
2 



14 MEMOIR. 

territory. He was a member of that convention 
at Westminster, which declared, in the name of 
the people, the independence of Vermont ; and 
which afterwards assembled at Windsor, and form- 
ed the original Constitution of the State. On the 
adoption of this constitution, and the organization 
of the Government, in 1778, he was chosen the 
first Lieutenant Governor; an office which he con- 
tinued to hold, at intervals, for a number of years. 
James Marsh was born in the house of his grand- 
father, a pleasant mansion in the retired valley of 
Otta Quechee river. As it was intended that he 
should follow the occupation of his father, he 
spent here the first eighteen years of his life in 
the hardy labors of the field. With this arrange- 
ment of his parents he was not only satisfied, but 
well pleased. No man was ever more strongly 
attached to the place of his birth ; and the inde- 
pendent life of the farmer had a charm for him, 
which never lost its hold on his imagination. In 
his letters, he often speaks of those woods and 
meadows in which he had spent so many pleasant 
days ; and, even at the close of his professional 
studies, thought seriously of returning to his fath- 
er's farm, where he hoped to find that leisure and 
freedom for the activity of his mind, which he did 
not expect to enjoy in more immediate contact 
with the world. His elder brother, who was des- 
tined for college, having, for some reason, been 
diverted from his purpose, James was induced to 
take his place ; and accordingly, at about the age 
of eighteen, turned his attention for the first time 



MEMOIR. 15 

to the preparatory studies. Having completed 
these, under the care of Mr. William Nutting, who 
was then preceptor of the Academy at Randolph, 
he was admitted as a member of Dartmouth Col- 
lege, in the autumn of 1813. 

The college at this time, or soon after, became 
involved in those notable difficulties, which finally 
resulted in the establishment of a rival University, 
whose brief existence began and ended, I believe, 
within the period of Mr. Marsh's residence at 
Hanover. Such a state of things, it might easily 
be supposed, could hardly tend to any advantage 
of the young men whose fortune it was to be then 
connected with the institution. The troubles, 
however, were mostly outward ; within the bosom 
of the college, the strictness of discipline and reg- 
ularity of studies never suffered any serious inter- 
ruption. Some of the best scholars ever educated 
at Dartmouth went through the worst of these 
days. In fact, the several departments of instruc- 
tion were never better filled than they were at pre- 
cisely that time, and the whole was under the 
direction of that wise and excellent man, Presi- 
dent Brown, whose premature removal, in the full 
vigor of his power and highest promise of useful- 
ness, inflicted on the college the severest loss it 
was ever called to sustain. 

Under these favorable influences, Mr. Marsh 
soon gave evidence of the fine parts w r ith which 
he was endowed. The late period when he be- 
gan to study, subjected him, at first, to some in- 
convenience ; but the disadvantage of an imper- 



16 MEMOIR. 

feet preparation operated with him only as a stim- 
ulant to greater exertion, and was in fact compen- 
sated, in no slight degree, by that maturity of mind 
and those industrious habits he had brought with 
him from the farm. The same free and enterprizing 
spirit which afterwards formed his distinguishing 
character as a student, manifested itself in him 
from the first. Without being ambitious to shine 
in any particular branch of learning, he seemed 
intent on exploring the whole field of knowledge, 
and exercising his faculties in every right direc- 
tion. This expansive tendency of his mind did 
not lead him, however, to overlook the importance 
of thorough and exact discipline. He aimed at 
becoming an accurate and profound as well as 
general scholar, and never allowed himself to be 
satisfied with superficial attainments. Although a 
great devourer of book, he was not in the habit of 
reading at random, and as fancy led him, but was 
uniformly guided by a leading purpose, which he 
had distinctly conceived and settled in his own 
mind. 

If he had a decided preference at this time for 
any particular class of studies, it was perhaps for 
the ancient languages and literature ; especially 
the Greek, which he did not cease to study and 
admire as long as he lived. His proficiency in 
these languages, while at college, was very re- 
spectable ; his skill in them consisted chiefly in an 
ability to read them with ease and fluency, and 
with a discriminating sense of their beauties of 
style and expression. Neither his time nor his 



MEMOIR. 17 

means allowed him to do much more. In connec- 
tion with these studies, he pushed his inquiries to 
a considerable extent in literary history and criti- 
cism. The only writings of his college days 
which have been preserved, relate almost entirely 
to these subjects. In the mathematics and the 
severer sciences, he was patient and thorough, 
shrinking from nothing that was abstruse or diffi- 
cult, but rather taking delight in whatever served 
to task his powers and rouse them to their utmost 
exertion. His lighter reading was, of choice, con- 
fined, for the most part, to the old English writers, 
whose fulness of thought and fresh vigorous lan- 
guage furnished a more pleasurable excitement to 
his mind, than the tamer productions of more re- 
cent times. Yet there was no period of the Eng- 
lish literature which he did not make it a point to 
study, in its best authors. 

In the spring of 1815, Mr. Marsh was for a 
while interrupted in these studious pursuits by an 
important event, which gave the decisive turn to 
his whole future life. During a season of uncom- 
mon attention to the subject of religion in the col- 
lege, in which most of the students participated, 
his own mind became interested in that subject, 
and his serious reflections resulted in a change of 
views and feelings, which he ever afterwards re- 
garded as the commencement of a new life in his 
soul. Among his earliest papers, is one which 
contains a full account of the progressive steps by 
which he was led, after many severe inward con- 
flicts, to place his hope on what he considered to 
3 



18 MEMOIR. 

be a sure foundation. He says he had been in- 
structed from childhood in the great things per- 
taining to another world ; but his first serious im- 
pressions were now almost entirely forgotten. 
His mind was recalled to them by hearing that one 
of his fellow-students had become serious. A few 
days afterward, being present at a religious meet- 
ing, where the individual just mentioned offered 
some remarks and a prayer, his attention w 7 as 
completely arrested, and fixed upon his own per- 
sonal condition. He went home, laid aside his 
studies, and applied himself to the reading of re- 
ligious books and to reflection. His first effort 
was to commit himself to God, in a voluntary and 
conscious act of surrendering up every thing to 
him, as his rightful Lord and Sovereign. But 
every attempt of this kind only convinced him the 
more of the great distance and alienation of his 
heart from the source and centre of all good. He 
remained in this state of feeling for some days. 
When he found he was making no progress in the 
performance of what he conceived to be his first 
duty, he became alarmed, and began to fear lest 
he should return back to his former indifference 
and unconcern. The horrible suspicion arose in 
his mind, that he was given over to hardness of 
heart, which threw him into a state bordering on 
despair. " I envied those around me (he says) 
whom I looked upon as in a more hopeful condi- 
tion than myself, and my heart rose in opposition 
to the divine sovereignty. Yet I struggled with 
my misery, and was in the greatest fear, lest I 



MEMOIR. 19 

should be left to blaspheme the name of my Cre- 
ator. Filled with dismay, and almost overcome 
by the suggestions of a rebellious heart, I went to 
visit one whom I knew to be, like myself, in great 
darkness and depression, in order to join with him 
in lamenting our wretched state." Here, during 
the interview with his friend, he first found relief 
from these dismal apprehensions. The opposition 
of heart with which he had been so long strug- 
gling, seemed to give way for the admission of 
better feelings ; although for several days he 
scarcely ventured to hope the change was of that 
radical and permanent nature, which he felt to be 
necessary for his peace. But gradually his views 
became more clear and decided. " The things of 
another world (he says) completely filled my mind, 
and God appeared to me to be all in all. I have 
no apprehension that I experienced any remarka- 
ble displays of his character ; 1 saw no particular 
application of his mercy to myself; but he ap- 
peared infinitely glorious, and I felt that if I had 
ten thousand souls, I could with confidence com- 
mit them to his mercy and care. I experienced 
no fears respecting my own situation, and no par- 
ticular joys or exulting hopes ; but a calm and 
tranquil peace of mind, such as the world could 
neither give nor take away." 

These feelings, however, did not continue long 
without suffering some abatement ; and his faith 
was soon subjected to a variety of trials. "At one 
time in particular," he notices, " after being en- 
gaged in meditation, I took up a proposition of 



20 MEMOIR. 

Euclid. As I proceeded in the demonstration, all 
my faith in things invisible seemed to vanish, and 
I almost doubted the reality of my own existence. 
By degrees, my convictions became more settled 
and less dependent on circumstances. I could 
pursue my studies with calmness, proceeding, as I 
hope, from a belief that it was my duty, and a 
confidence that God was able to preserve me. At 
times, however, I have feared that my peace arose 
rather from the decay of religious affections, than 
from true evangelical faith. Yet I thought, from 
self-examination, that I discovered some marks of 
a growing principle of Christian life. I thought 
my desires after holiness and an increase of the 
Christian graces, together with the sense of my 
own sinfulness and the imperfection of my best 
performances, were becoming more strong, and 
furnished some evidence of a state of grace." 

Under these impressions, Mr. Marsh took an 
early opportunity to make a public profession of 
religion ; and on the 7th of August in the same 
year, united with the church at Dartmouth Col- 
lege. After recording this event, he says : " With 
the members of this church, and under the instruc- 
tion of our beloved pastor, the Rev. Professor 
ShurtlifT, I now enjoy the most favorable and 
agreeable means for improvement in christian 
knowledge, and for growth in the christian life. 
That I may have grace to improve these distin- 
guishing blessings to the glory of the great Giver 
of every good and perfect gift, to the honor of that 
Redeemer who was delivered for our sins and 



MEMOIR. 21 

raised for our justification, to the good of the 
church in this place and the upbuilding of the 
church universal, and, finally, to my own spiritual 
and everlasting welfare, is, so far as I know my 
own heart, my most sincere and ardent prayer." 

It is impossible, as it seems to me, for any one 
to read this account, without being satisfied that 
Mr. Marsh himself was fully convinced he had ex- 
perienced, at this time, a great and decided change 
in his religious character ; had passsd a crisis in 
his spiritual life, different from any thing he had 
ever before known, and worthy of being held by 
him in perpetual remembrance. That he might 
be mistaken on this point, is possible ; as who may 
not be, in regard to a thing so deceitful as his own 
heart? But, at all events, he felt that this was to 
him the beginning of a new life. Henceforth his 
aims were fixed and all his powers consecrated to 
one great object. His studies, which had been 
for a while interrupted by this all-engrossing sub- 
ject, were now resumed, and pushed forward with 
unabated ardor. The change in his religious char- 
acter had neither contracted his mind nor dimin- 
ished his enthusiasm in the pursuit of knowledge. 
It rather stimulated him to greater exertion ; his 
mind expanded with the more ennobling principle 
by which its energies were now directed ; and in- 
stead of contracting his aims, and seeking to con- 
tent himself with humbler attainments in human 
science, he felt himself bound, more than ever, to 
cultivate, to the utmost possible extent and in 
every direction, the powers which God had given 
him. 



22 MEMOIR. 

With these enlightened views of his duty under 
the present circumstances, he went on to complete 
what he had already so successfully begun, in lay- 
ing the foundations of a thorough and truly liberal 
education. Without neglecting the regular tasks 
required of him, he was led, by his own indefati- 
gable zeal, to venture far beyond the beaten track, 
and to push his inquiries into every part of the field 
where the human mind has left any monuments of 
its power. Thus he became a general scholar, in 
the worthiest sense ; not a mere smatterer, pos- 
sessing the show without the substance of learn- 
ing, but profound, systematic and clear, as well as 
comprehensive, in all his views. This was the 
character with which he left college ; and few have 
acquired it more fairly, or have sustained it with 
greater constancy, than he did, through the whole 
of his subsequent life. 

Having finished his collegiate studies, Mr. Marsh 
was at no loss to decide as to the choice of a pro- 
fession. He was inclined to Theology by the 
native bent of his mind, as well as by his religious 
feelings; and he had no reason to doubt that this 
was the course marked out for him by divine Prov- 
idence. Accordingly, in November, 1817, he en- 
tered the Theological school at Andover, with a 
view to prepare for the sacred ministry. Here he 
remained about one year, when he received and 
accepted an invitation to become a tutor at Dart- 
mouth College. 

In this situation he spent two of the happiest, 
and in many respects most profitable years of his 



MEMOIR. 23 

life. Being in a good degree familiar with the 
branches of science in which he was called to in- 
struct, and at full liberty to take his own course, 
as to the employment of his leisure hours, he had 
ample opportunity, which he did not fail to im- 
prove, of giving greater extent, as well as solidity, 
to the foundations which had been already so 
broadly laid. His studies, at this time, went over 
a wide range, but they were regular and severe. 
He cultivated more general and familiar acquaint- 
ance with the great writers of antiquity ; studying 
the various forms of the ancient languages, at their 
purest sources ; and perhaps he might now say, as 
Milton did of himself at the same age, that he had 
not merely wetted the tip of his lips in the stream 
of these languages, but in proportion to his years, 
swallowed the most copious draughts. But what 
he chiefly aimed at was, to make himself familiar 
with the spirit of the ancient literature ; to pene- 
trate to the ground of all its diversified forms, and 
to master the secret of the mighty charm by 
which it binds all hearts that come within its in- 
fluence. While investigating this subject, in which 
he was led to compare the spirit of the ancient lit- 
erature with the modern, he became interested in 
the study of the middle ages, and read every thing 
he could get access to on this important period, 
which, as containing within itself the germ of 
modern cultivation, he thought deserving of more 
attention than it usually received. After the same 
manner, he studied the literature of more recent 
times, endeavoring everywhere to look beneath the 



24 MEMOIR. 

surface and the mere form, and to find out the 
pervading spirit which characterized each particu- 
lar author, and his age. In all this he never lost 
out of sight, the great practical end of self-culture. 
In contemplating the efforts of other minds, and 
searching for the causes of their failure or success, 
he was aiming to develope his own. Freedom, 
boldness, and vigor of thought, were the qualities 
by which he was most strongly attracted. He 
preferred those writers above all others for their 
influence on his own taste and habits of thinking, 
who possessed most of what he considered the pe- 
culiar characteristics of modern genius, profound 
moral sentiment, and intensity of feeling. In a 
letter written at this time, wherein he speaks of 
the style of thinking that belongs to different 
classes of literature, and to different persons, ac- 
cording as their tastes and characters are formed 
by one or the other, he adduces Pope and Byron, 
the one as an example of a cold and unfeeling 
style, the other of a style characterized by im- 
mense power of thought, feeling and expression. 
Of Byron, he says, " you will soon be tired of him 
as an example, but he seems to me to live more 
than other men. He has conceived a being in his 
imagination of stronger powers, of greater capacity 
for suffering and enjoying, than the race of mor- 
tals, and he has learned to live in him, ' It is,' 
he says, 

1 to create, and in creating live 
A being more intense, that we endow 
With form our fancy.' 



MEMOIR. 25 

How vastly does every thing of a religious na- 
ture swell in importance, when connected in our 
minds with a being of such capacities as Byron 
seems to us to be ! When I speak as I do of this 
author, I know you will not imagine that I can 
ever intend to approve his moral feelings, or com- 
mend the moral tenor of his works. But why 
should not the disciple of Christ feel as profound- 
ly, and learn to express as energetically, the power 
of moral sentiment, as the poet or the infidel ? It 
is this, that I aim at in my devotion to Byron. I 
love occasionally to hold communion with his 
spirit, and breathe its energy. It gives me new 
vigor, and I seem in reality to live a being more 
intense." Such was Mr. Marsh's literary creed at 
the present time ; afterwards it became somewhat 
modified. 

In the same letter, he speaks of his tutorship as 
a drudgery, which he would be glad to be rid of. 
This was written near the close of the first year 
he spent in that office, but he consented to remain 
for another. The fact that he was requested to do 
so, proves that his services were acceptable, at 
least that he was chargeable with no serious neg- 
lect of his duty. To the students, he could scarce- 
ly fail to be other than a pleasant and profitable 
instructer, though his mode of teaching, and his 
habits of familiar intercourse with his pupils, were 
quite different, I suspect, from what had been cus- 
tomary before. " There are some," he says, in a 
letter written after he had left Hanover, " who 
seem to know no way of managing young men, 
4 



26 MEMOIR. 

but by the terror of authority ; but such a method 
tends to break down all the independent spirit 
and love of study for its own sake, which I thought 
it of so much importance to cherish." Perhaps he 
then carried his notions on this subject a little too 
far ; perhaps his own method of allowing and en- 
couraging young men to use an unlimited freedom 
in the choice of their studies, would have proved 
incompatible with any regular system of discipline 
calculated on the average wants of the youthful 
mind. But if he was in an error here, it was from 
judging of others by himself, and too charitably 
presuming that none would be tempted, in such a 
case, to turn their liberty into licentiousness. 
However that might be, a mind so deeply imbued 
as his was, with the true spirit of the scholar, 
could not fail to infuse a portion of his own zeal 
into those who were under his care ; and his influ- 
ence at Dartmouth, was, I doubt not, in the highest 
degree salutary. One effect at least, it must have 
had, namely, to raise the tone of scholarship, and 
inspire higher aims, than those connected with the 
mere task-work of the recitation room. 

His devotion to these labors, and to his other 
literary pursuits, did not prevent him from culti- 
vating, as he had opportunity, the social affections 
of his nature. Although a real student, he was as 
far as possible from being a recluse. No man had 
a stronger love for cultivated society, nor under- 
stood better what such society ought to be. He 
had a constant longing after more freedom of in- 
tellectual intercourse, and thought the benefit to 



MEMOIR. 27 

be derived from such intercourse incomparably 
greater than could be gained from books alone and 
solitary studies. " Not that I would like," he says 
in one of his letters of this period, " the unre- 
strained intercourse of French petits-maitres or 
petittes-maitresses ; but surely there can be no 
objection to the free and hearty expression of 
friendship, or to that easy and familiar interchange 
of thought, which we find in the letters of Cowper 
and his correspondents, and, indeed, of all the 
literary men of the last century, as Shenstone, 
Gay, &:c. Such a state of society seems to me to 
promise much more exercise of social feelings and 
sympathies, than our constrained, cautious and 
freezing reserve. Where a prohibition is put upon 
the expression of all the social affections, and we 
dare not give proof of their existence, there is 
great reason to fear they do not exist long. A fire 
may indeed live for a time, if buried in ashes ; but 
if buried too long, we look in vain for the cheer- 
ing flame or the glowing embers. We rake off 
the ashes, and all is gray." 

The society which he found at Hanover must 
doubtless have been exceedingly pleasant to him, 
and perhaps contributed, more than any thing else, 
to reconcile him to the long suspension of his pro- 
fessional studies ; for love had some influence here, 
as well as literature. He had fixed his affections 
on a young lady of the place, in all respects most 
worthy of his choice ; and as the inclination proved 
to be mutual, an affair of the utmost importance 
to his future happiness was thus settled. This 



28 MEMOIR. 

person, whom he afterwards married, was Miss 
Lucia Wheelock, daughter of James Wheelock, 
Esq., and a niece of the former President. Many 
of the extracts which I shall hereafter introduce, 
are taken from letters of Mr. Marsh, addressed to 
her. But besides the agreeable circle into which 
he was thus drawn, he enjoyed the intimacy of 
several literary friends, men of the same age and 
of like spirit with himself, in whose society he 
found the most constant excitement to intellectual 
activity. They formed a club, of which I have 
often heard him speak, as one of the best schools 
of discipline to which his mind had ever been sub- 
jected. They met together, I believe, once a 
week, for literary discussion, the reading of origi- 
nal pieces, and the criticism of each other's per- 
formances. In preparing himself for these meet- 
ings, Mr. Marsh was accustomed to lay out his 
whole strength. The free, unrestrained inter- 
change of thought which was here encouraged, fell 
in completely with his own views ; and the lively 
debates of the club gave an impulse to his mind, 
the effects of which were not soon forgotten. 

On many accounts, the two years which Mr. 
Marsh spent as a tutor at Hanover, were among 
the most memorable of his life, and had the most 
important influence upon his future character, both 
as a scholar and a theologian. Perhaps he had 
employed his time in the best possible manner, to 
prepare himself for the sphere of action to which 
he was looking forward, as the ultimate aim of his 
labors. If, instead of devoting his leisure to more 




MEMOIR. 29 



general objects, to the study of ancient and mod- 
ern learning, to the cultivation of his taste and the 
discipline of his reasoning powers, he had under- 
taken to pursue and complete his theological stud- 
ies, with an impatient zeal to be engaged in the 
active duties of his profession, he might have ac- 
complished'something ; though less, I apprehend, 
than many in the same situation. A man who 
took nothing for granted, but felt himself bound to 
know the grounds of every thing he professed to 
understand and believe, could never have satisfied 
himself by such a superficial preparation, and 
must have felt constantly embarrassed by the in- 
adequacy of his own views. As it was, he took 
the right course for a mind constituted like his ; 
and the result was such as might have been pre- 
dicted by any one who knew the comprehensive- 
ness of his intellect and the sincerity of his aims. 
In the autumn of 1320, Mr. Marsh returned to 
Andover, for the purpose of completing his pro- 
fessional studies. But before he sat down to his 
books, he concluded to spend a short time at Cam- 
bridge, partly for the sake of social relaxation, and 
partly for the purpose of becoming better acquaint- 
ed with the literary advantages of the place. He 
was aware that this step might be misinterpreted, 
and expose him to the risk of some jealousy and 
disapprobation ; but, conscious of the uprightness 
of his motives, he was not to be deterred by any 
fears of that sort from gratifying so rational a wish. 
" I hope to learn," he said, " how to defend my 
religious principles (which, I am more and more 



30 MEMOIR. 

confident, will never differ essentially from those I 
have been taught to believe) with more enlarged 
views, and on more philosophical grounds, than I 
should be able to do with the advantages offered 
at Andover." With these advantages, however, 
he was well satisfied. At Andover, he found 
means and opportunities for prosecuting his theo- 
logical inquiries as ample as he could desire ; and 
he intended neither to disparage nor to neglect 
them. But he wished to extend his acquaintance 
with men as well as books, and with other minds 
than those who had been trained in the same 
school with himself. From such intercourse he 
expected to derive the advantage of which he 
speaks above, and thought it would be of import- 
ance to him in his future studies. 

It was his intention to remain at Cambridge 
about two months ; but for some reason or other, 
he shortened his stay, and was at Andover again 
in the middle of November, where he soon found 
himself settled completely to his mind. " I would 
tell you, he says in a letter of this date, " how 
favorably I am situated here. I room with our 
old acquaintance, Mr. M., which particular you 
will be apt to think not very favorable. But he 
being a rough body, I shall be sure, I think, to get 
one of the benefits that my Lord Bacon proposeth 
from intercourse with friends. For though the 
first fruits of friendship be to divide care, and the 
second to gain counsel, yet even without these, ' a 
man learneth of himself, and bringeth his own 
thoughts to light, and whetteth his wits as against 



MEMOIR. 31 

a stone, which itself cuts not.' I board in com- 
mons, and room in college ; partly from necessity, 
but principally from choice. I have begun a very 
Pythagorical mode of living, and if I devour less 
beef than my fellows, I hope to devour more books, 
which I can command better here than any where 
else." 

Mr. Marsh entered upon the work now before 
him with the zeal of an indefatigable student, but 
with the seriousness also of one who felt how 
much was depending on the issue. Writing to a 
friend, he says : " The commencement here of a 
permanent system of labor impresses it upon me 
more strongly than I have ever felt it before, that 
I am engaging, and at my own risk, in the serious 
business of life. In a word, I begin to think, as 
if it were time to be in earnest, and to do with 
my might what my hands find to do. It is much 
easier — and I am aware it is much better suited 
to my inclination — to feel one's self free from re- 
sponsibility, and at liberty to be governed by the 
impulse of the moment, than to be a man among 
men, to form and maintain a character on elevated, 
uniform and consistent principles. There are 
many, it is true, whose" characters and conduct 
are uniform and consistent, because they are un- 
consciously governed by habits, and perhaps prin- 
ciples, impressed upon them from infancy. There 
are comparatively few who sustain with uniform- 
ity a character of their own formation, who con- 
sciously govern themselves by principles tried and 
approved at the tribunal of their own reason and 



32 MEMOIR. 

conscience. To form and support a character in 
this way, on noble and just principles, should and 
will ensure a more enviable reputation than all the 
accomplishments and acquirements of mere intel- 
lectual greatness." 

His private journal, as well as many of the let- 
ters he wrote during this period, show how uni- 
formly and how conscientiously he sought to gov- 
ern himself by these pure principles, and how 
completely he subordinated the love of learning 
and the ambition of the scholar, to the higher aims 
of the christian. In this respect, I am sorry to 
say, his character was often grossly misapprehend- 
ed. Many seemed to consider him as a " mere 
scholar," a man given wholly to books and to 
speculative inquiries; one in whom the life of reli- 
gion was smothered by his too much learning, and 
who could feel no interest or sympathy in any 
thing except what was purely intellectual. Nothing 
gave him more pain than to find himself so misun- 
derstood. But he saw no way of correcting the 
mistake, except by steadfastly pursuing his own 
course, and leaving it to correct itself. It was for 
this reason, doubtless, he felt somewhat disappoint- 
ed at first, in the social privileges at Andover. 
For the purpose of mutual benefit, he chose to 
associate w r ith a few whose views of the objects 
and aims of study seemed most nearly to corres- 
pond with his own. These excellent young men, 
too, fell into the common mistake of considering 
him as a mere scholar, and he was compelled to 
feel, he said, that his intercourse and conversation 



MEMOIR. \ S3 

with them must be nothing more nor less than a 
continual trial of strength and comparison of in- 
tellectual acquirements. This, for a while, gave 
him great uneasiness. But, as his true character 
came to be better known by his friends, the unnat- 
ural • constraint of such sort of intercourse gave 
way to more cordial feelings ; and the friendships 
which he formed at Andover, were among the 
most pleasant recollections of his life. 

The impression, however, was never wholly re- 
moved from the minds of all, that Mr. Marsh was 
too much given to study, and not sufficiently atten- 
tive to other more practical duties. In one re- 
spect, this was true. He did feel, I may say, an 
aversion to every thing that is formal and merely 
outward in religion. Perhaps he carried his no- 
tions on this subject to a fastidious extreme. At 
any rate, I shall not attempt to defend them. But 
if the record of his private feeling can be trusted, 
he was a man who habitually held communion 
with his heart in secret, and kept an altar there to 
the living God, whose fires were never suffered to 
go out. Speaking, in one of his letters, of the 
means enjoyed for religious improvement at Ando- 
ver, he says : " Our general intercourse is less fa- 
miliar than it might and ought to be, in this as in 
other things ; and from what I have told you of 
my habits, you might suppose, that I should derive 
little assistance from others, in regard to religious 
feelings. Such has, indeed, been the case ; but 
though far too unfeeling and indifferent, I hope 
still that I have learned something about the way 
5 



34 MEMOIR* 

of life. There are frequent conferences and class 
meetings ; but I have attended few of them, sim- 
ply because I did not find them profitable. It 
might be my own fault ; but they seemed too for- 
mal, and not sufficiently familiar to allow the nat- 
ural play and expression of feeling. When that 
is the case, and when there is not some particular 
cause to raise the general tone of feeling above 
the restraint of forms, nothing is more profitless 
to me than the constantly recurring routine of for- 
mal assemblies of any kind." It would be wrong 
to infer, however, from what he has said here, that 
Mr. Marsh felt an objection to such meetings gen- 
erally, or thought that they could not be made 
profitable, even to himself. Soon after this, he 
speaks of a club or association which was about to 
be formed, for the purpose of familiar and free con- 
versation on practical religion. "We shall make 
it an object," he says, " to remove all formality 
and restraint, as far as possible ; and it will be- 
come, I hope, a kind of religious levee. If so, I 
have no doubt it may be highly useful in many re- 
spects. It will introduce more freedom of inter- 
course, and, I hope, a higher tone of conversation, 
both in style and matter, than any thing we have 
here now. To myself, I hope it will be profitable, 
by directing my mind more to practical and exper- 
imental religion. I confess, too, I have some wish 
to remove an impression, which, I fear, has been 
too correct, that I was a mere scholar, and had lit- 
tle regard for any thing but merely speculative in- 
quiries* The impression, in fact, I found, a few 



MEMOIR. 



35 



weeks since, was so strong, as to justify anxiety 
on my part to remove it ; and I believe I have 
done so, in a great measure. I have asserted, and 
must try to prove by example, that diligence in the 
pursuit of study is compatible with religious feel- 
ings. Pray for me, my dear friend, that I may 
not be deceived, in circumstances which so much 
expose me to the sophistry of my own heart." 

The plan which Mr. Marsh proposed for him- 
self, in resuming his theological course at Andover, 
was comprehensive, beyond any example which 
could have come within his own observation; and 
embraced a more extensive circle of studies, than 
it would be thought useful or expedient for most 
men to undertake. It is by no means my wish to 
hold him up, in this respect, as a model for any 
one's imitation. The humbler plan, which expe- 
rience seems to approve, as best adapted, in the 
majority of cases, to secure the ends of a profes- 
sional education, is, to lay its foundation deep, 
rather than broad ; and to aim at thoroughness and 
accuracy in a few things which the profession re- 
quires to be well known, rather than at a general 
and superficial acquaintance with many. But 
there are some minds which will not be so con- 
fined ; which are borne onward, by a sort of irre- 
pressible impulse, to extend their energies beyond 
the absolute demands of their profession ; which, 
in fact, cannot pursue a particular branch of sci- 
ence, without seeking to trace its connexion and 
its relations with every thing that can be known. 
Such minds are apt to know their own wants, and 



36 MEMOIR. 

to understand, better than others can tell them, 
how to shape their course, so as to fulfil the des- 
tiny to which they are appointed, and to effect the 
greatest good of which they are capable in their 
day and generation. 

In a journal, which Mr. Marsh now began for 
the purpose of noticing in it the progress of his 
daily inquiries, he lays out the course of study 
which he meant to pursue, under the following 
heads : 

"1. A general system of ancient history and 
literature, to commence with Hebrew Geography, 
Natural History, Chronology ; and so to the char- 
acter, and civil and religious fortunes of the peo- 
ple. 

" 2. With a view to prepare myself earlier than I 
should, for coming to the historical sense of the 
New Testament, I begin with the history of the 
Jews, at the return from captivity. 

"3. I connect, with both these, partially, the 
studies in Professor Stuart's department ; namely, 
the critical study of the Old and New Testament. 
The sum and final result of these several courses 
will be the right understanding of the doctrines of 
the sacred Scriptures, in Dr. Wood's department. 
I must, of course, feel myself, at present, very 
poorly prepared for these last investigations. So 
far as they proceed on the ground of natural reli- 
gion, I can prosecute them effectually. It will 
afford a useful, though severe exercise of abstract 
thought ; and I shall add to the pleasure of it, by 
associating it, as far as practicable, with the his- 



MEMOIR. 37 

tory of natural religion, as it exists in fact in the 
writings of the pagan philosophers. 

" 4. In addition to these, I must contrive, if I 
can procure the means, to pursue modern literature 
one hour a day." All the studies which he men- 
tions here, if we except the last, were within the 
sphere of his profession, and strictly conformable 
to the course at the Seminary. But he pursued 
them according to his own method, as a voluntary 
exercise, in addition to the prescribed course of 
studies, to which at the same time he meant to 
devote all needful attention. Of his method, as 
well as of the wide range of his inquiries, I shall 
have occasion to speak more particularly hereafter. 
In connexion with these more strictly professional 
studies, he contrived to find time for acquiring a 
good knowledge of two or three modern languages, 
and for investigating to some extent, at the origi- 
nal sources, the history and literature of the mid- 
dle ages. It may seem difficult to conceive how 
he could be employed, at one and the same time, 
in so many different pursuits, without losing him- 
self entirely in the multiplicity of his objects, and 
defeating his own end, by grasping after so much 
at once. In his journal, however, he never com- 
plains of being distracted or hindered by the va- 
riety of his studies ; but often takes occasion to 
notice the evidence of his success. February 21, 
1821. He makes the following entry: " Of my 
progress in the German language, I have been 
more conscious than ever before, and begin to feel 
as if I had conquered it. On Saturday in the 



38 MEMOIR. 

forenoon, I read in the regular course of my stud- 
ies about fifty pages, and read it well. In Span- 
ish, too, I have done something, and shall conquer 
it within the year. My Hebrew I have had some 
fears about, but think I shall master it." The 
w r hole record of this day, which happens to be 
more full than usual, furnishes, perhaps, as faith- 
ful an account as could be given of the manner in 
which he was accustomed to employ his time. 

" At the club on Friday, [this was an associa- 
tion of students, formed chiefly by his own means, 
for the familiar discussion of subjects connected 
with their studies,] I was rather surprised to find 
that though I had devoted but half a day to the 
subject, (the Apostolic Fathers,) my knowledge of 
them was as good as any one's. I do not make this 
record from vanity, but the fact is to me a proof 
of the superiority of my system of study. The 
question was started about the rise of the Gnostic 
sects ; and as 1 was not very fully acquainted 
with it, spent some time afterwards in looking 
into eastern philosophy, in order to trace back 
their principles. Read forty pages in Heeren's 
Ideen, respecting the religion of Zoroaster. He 
considers the authenticity of the Zendavesta, as 
the record of that system, to be established ; and 
from the contents of the work, proves the religion 
to have been first set up in the Bactro-Median 
kingdom, east of the Caspian, at least one hun- 
dred years before the reign of Gustasp, or Darius 
Hystaspes, in whose reign it is generally thought 
Zoroaster lived. It was transferred to Persia, and 



MEMOIR. 39 

made the court religion of that empire by Cyrus. 
I took an abstract of the system, and shall say 
no more of it here. 

" I have made some progress in Dr. W's. de- 
partment during the week, and some in the critical 
knowledge of the New Testament. I have learnt, 
too, how to connect this study more with the cul- 
tivation of practical piety, by reflecting carefully 
on the subject or the chapter which I have studied, 
and applying it directly to my own heart ; I may 
mention, too, in this place, the fair prospects of 
the club noticed in my last record ; [this was 
another club, and the same that he alludes to in 
one of his letters, quoted a few pages back ;] the 
objects of which I must endeavor to connect some- 
how systematically with this subject. 

" For two or three days ray attention has been 
principally turned to the Hebrew Sacrifices, the 
subject for our club next week. I must try to 
write on it, and connect it with the sacrificial rites 
of pagan nations. 

" To-day spent two hours in reflecting on this 
subject, before I rose. In the forenoon, studied 
pretty faithfully the six or seven first chapters of 
Leviticus, which contain the substance of the 
whole matter, and will require yet more thought. 
Read several pages in John, and am nearly pre- 
pared to mark out the plan of a dissertation. 

" Spent an hour on the subject of chronology, 
and nearly two hours in reading twice over Hor- 
ace's Epistle to Augustus, containing 270 lines. 
It has much interesting matter, relating to the 



40 MEMOIR. 

tastes of the Romans, the state of literature among 
them at that time, and many opinions which are 
interesting, as the opinions of Horace. Reading 
it again with my pupil [a young gentleman from 
Yale College, who had been placed under his care] 
will make me master of all that is valuable in it. 

" Wrote a letter to my friend B., and read 30 
pages of Hallam's dissertation on the state of soci- 
ety in the middle ages. He does not seem to be 
acquainted with the opinions of De Stael and 
Schlegel ; or if he is, he does not, in my opinion, 
give them the right influence in forming his notions 
of the human mind in the decline of the Roman 
Empire. I learned from him some interesting 
facts, about the state of the Latin language in the 
provinces. In addition to what I already mention- 
ed, with a view to Gnosticism, I read 10 or 12 
pages of Muenscher, who traces it to the emana- 
tion system, through the medium of the Jewish 
sects." 

Mr. Marsh speaks, in the above extract, of his 
system of study. He seldom read any authors in 
course, but for the most part simply consulted 
them on the subjects which interested him, and 
aimed to make himself master of their leading 
thoughts. By this practice, he acquired a habit of 
looking through a book, and seizing its most valu- 
able contents, which surprized those who were not 
acquainted with his peculiar method. In reading 
an author for the first time, he gave but little 
attention to his language, but endeavored to enter 
fully into his meaning, and to get at the scope of 



MEMOIR. 41 

his views. After this, he would seek to express 
the same thoughts in his own language, and then 
compare what he had done with the original. This 
was a very frequent exercise with him ; and he 
maintained that while it tended gradually to ele- 
vate and refine his own style, it gave him a much 
clearer perception of the precision and elegance of 
the writer's language, than he could obtain in any 
other way. He was also accustomed to make 
copious abstracts from the more important works 
which he studied, and several of these remain 
among the fragments of his early writings that 
have been preserved. Close thinking, he said, 
often superseded, with him, the use of books. It 
was in this way he usually prepared himself for the 
daily recitations ; and he sometimes found that he 
had thus anticipated nearly all that was said, and 
moreover, could connect the different subjects to- 
gether, so as to make a more simple system, than 
was practicable with one who read much without 
reflection. 

With the more dry and scholastic studies of this 

period, he was in the habit of intermingling a 

lighter kind of reading, particularly poetry. He had 

now, in a great measure, lost his admiration of 

Byron, and became attached to Wordsworth, and 

other poets of the same class. He thought they 

breathed more of the true sublimity, the settled 

elevation and purity of christian sentiment, than 

could be found in many other writers. " There 

is in them," he says, in one of his letters, " a 

power of thought that enlarges and strengthens the 

6 



42 MEMOIR. 

intellectual power, while it elevates the whole 
soul, and fixes it in calmer seats of moral strength. 
It is the poetry that, of all, I would prefer to make 
my habitual study. Nor would I study it as I 
used to study poetry, but with a direct practical 
purpose, to nurse my own faculties, to imbibe its 
spirit, to breathe its purity, and recurring constant- 
ly to the Gospel, the still purer fountain from 
which it derives its characteristic excellencies, to 
form that exalted character which should be the 
aim of every christian. 

Into the various knowledge which he was thus 
accumulating, Mr. Marsh strove from the first to 
introduce a principle of unity, which should reduce 
it to one harmonious system in his own mind. 
This effort was no less characteristic of the man 
than his continued thirst for new acquisitions ; and 
it w T as the ground of that deep interest which he 
always felt in philosophical studies. In the early 
part of his journal, he mentions Dr. Brown's trea- 
tise on cause and effect, as a work which he had 
read, with great attention, and unbounded admira- 
tion of the author as an acute and powerful rea- 
soner. " I find myself," he says, " too strongly 
inclined to admit his theory, independently of the 
reasoning by which it is supported, from the sim- 
plicity which it introduces into all our speculations 
on the phenomena and powers of nature." Very 
different w T as the opinion which he came afterwards 
to entertain of this writer and his theory. Even 
now he felt altogether dissatisfied with the old 
method of the Scotch and English philosophers, 



MEMOIR. 43 

which he thought too formal, cold and barren. 
They did not, he said, keep alive the heart in the 
head. He wanted something which could meet 
more completely all the facts of his own conscious- 
ness, and explain the deeper mysteries of his spir- 
itual being. For this reason the writings of St. 
Paul seemed to him superior to all worldly philos- 
ophy. " I have studied," he says, in his journal, 
" the eighth chapter of Romans, with much inten- 
sity and much satisfaction. 1 find the only way 
to understand St. Paul is to analyze his argument, 
and get at the scope of his thoughts, by close and 
profound attention. It is the best introduction to 
the only life-giving philosophy, to enter with con- 
genial feelings into those views of man which he 
everywhere developes." At this time he was in 
the habit of studying a good deal the works of 
Coleridge, particularly the " Sketches of his Lite- 
rary Life and Opinions." With the aid of Cole- 
ridge and Madame de Stael, he began, moreover, to 
consult Kant's Critique of the Pure Reason, then 
a perfect terra incognita to American scholars. If 
I mention that in addition to this, he undertook to 
read through the works of Plato, and make a copi- 
ous analysis of each dialogue, without meaning to 
neglect any of his regular and more appropriate 
studies ; many, I fear, would be disposed to think 
he had altogether overrated his own powers, and 
undertaken what he could not possibly perform to 
any good purpose. But he thought differently of 
it ; and in truth, his simple style of living, his 
Pythagorical diet, as he termed it, gave him a 



44 MEMOIR. 

great advantage ; so that with clear and definite 
views as to what he would accomplish, he was en- 
abled to do more than most men would think pos- 
sible, without either sacrificing his health, or being 
overburthened and oppressed by the variety of his 
pursuits. 

He had a simple aim in all this. It was, as I 
have before said, to satisfy the instinctive desire of 
his mind after unity in all his knowledge. But 
with this, he was endeavoring, also, to obtain 
deeper insight into the grounds and nature of that 
faith, which he felt to be the life of his soul. The 
real difficulties in those great questions which had 
been called up in recent controversies, lay deeper, 
as he conceived, so far as they properly came 
within the province of speculation, than the par- 
ties on either side had as yet reached. He was 
desirous of searching to the bottom of them, and 
was willing to undergo all the labor and painful 
suspense which such an investigation must neces- 
sarily involve. The following letter, addressed to 
the friend of his heart, at Hanover, seems to have 
been written while he was thus engaged. 

Andover, July 1st, 1821. 
My Dear L. — I rejoice to hear of the more 
interesting attention to religion on the Plain, and 
among the students; and am the more ready to 
make an apology for my own loss of a letter, be- 
cause, in such a situation, the time that would 
have been devoted to me, may have been, and, I 
presume, has been, more profitably employed. For 



MEMOIR. 45 

your heart is engaged, I am aware, more than mine 
has been, in this most interesting and important of 
all subjects ; though I hope you do not think me 
wholly indifferent to experimental piety. I trust 
I am far from it ; though I have, for some time, 
been in the habit of contemplating it with perhaps 
too much of the coolness of the speculative scholar. 
It is the almost unavoidable consequence of de- 
votion to study, and of any thing like a compre- 
hensive view of the vast field which religious con- 
troversy now embraces. The simple, unlearned 
christian, who knows only his Bible, and daily reads 
that^with an unquestioning confidence in the more 
simple truths which he reads, and which he that 
runs may read, may well be, in some respects, the 
envy of the puzzled though learned man of books. 
He goes on in the even tenor of his way, with his 
head at ease, and his heart unmoved, but by the 
feelings of penitence and love. He knows nothing 
of the ten thousand distracting questions, the har- 
rowing doubts and maddening skepticism, that dry 
up the heart and seethe in the brain of the unfor- 
tunate student, who has ventured to pass the con- 
secrated limit of his traditional faith, and look back 
upon it with the cool eye of critical investigation. 
Few, indeed, let me assure you, even of those who 
undertake, as professional men, to examine and es- 
tablish the principles of their faith, know any thing 
of this. Their principles are, in fact, fully estab- 
lished in their own minds, before they begin to ex- 
amine them. They will boast, perhaps, of having 
dived into the very quagmire of skepticism, and 



46 MEMOIR. 

fathomed its hidden depths ; when, if the truth 
were known, they have probably floated along the 
surface, or coasted the shores of this mighty deep, 
in the cock-boat of their own opinionated self-con- 
fidence. They see that all below is dark and 
dreamy ; and fancy, like Chateaubriand upon the 
Dead Sea, they can hear the groans of Sodom and 
Gomorrah beneath them. No wonder they choose 
the upper air, and leave unruffled the abyss below. 
They now see the light, and are resolved to re- 
joice in it. But wo to the daring and ill-starred 
adventurer who plunges into the metaphysic 
depths of controversial theology ! Well may he 
ponder his voyage ; for it is little less difficult than 
that of our great adversary, when he passed 

"the throne 
Of chaos, and his dark pavilion spread 
Wide on the wasteful deep." 

He will soon find himself in 



" A gulf, profound as that Serbonian bog 
Betwixt Damiata and Mount Casius old, 
Where armies whole have sunk." 



The man, to speak in plain language, who at 
this day undertakes to settle for himself the vari- 
ous systems of theology, must not only unravel the 
mysteries of " fate, free-will, foreknowledge abso- 
lute, &c, without getting lost in their mazes, but 
while floundering in an everlasting < hubbub wild ' 
of ancient learning crazed, and made to dance, 
like Epicurus' atoms, to the ' harmonious discord ' 



MEMOIR. 47 

of some German metaphysical bagpipe, he must 
be careful to keep his balances nicely adjusted, 
and weigh with statistical accuracy the " hot, cold, 
moist and dry " of these " embryo atoms." He 
must meet the theories of the philologist and 
the theories of the philosopher. He must si- 
lence, says one, every whisper of emotion, and 
let reason teach him. Listen to the heart, says 
another ; it is the very sanctuary and the oracle of 
truth. And then, in a situation like mine, how 
many struggling propensities of the heart withdraw 
it from the simple feeling of the gospel truth ! 
The love of popularity and the love of independ- 
ence, the pride of knowledge and the pride of 
ignorance, the pride of liberality and the pride of 
orthodoxy, put up and let down the mind on one 
side and on the other ; while, to use a figure of 
Luther, like a drunken man on horseback, it goes 
plunging and reeling onwards. Truly, a man in 
such a course, if like Dante he has his Beatrice, 
or divine love for a guide, may arrive at heaven at 
last ; but, like Dante, he must do it by first going 
through hell and purgatory. I do not mean to say 
that I have any serious doubts in regard to the 
system of faith which we professed together be- 
fore the altar ; nor have I quite enough of Caesar's 
courage to say that I am rather telling you what 
is to be feared than what I fear ; for I see difficul- 
ties in every system, enough to confound the weak- 
ness of human reason. But this I know, that 
such an abstraction from the things of this world, 
and such a devotion to the things of God and the 



48 MEMOIR. 

things of an invisible future, as are the fruits of 
our New England revivals, are most rational in 
themselves, and most suitable to the character of 
immortal beings. Let us earnestly hope and pray 
that the revival will extend through the place and 
the college." 

It would be wrong, however, to infer from any- 
thing he has said in this rather imaginative and 
playful letter, that he ever allowed himself to be 
so absorbed in these speculations, or carried away 
by them, as to forget the humble and docile tem- 
per which it became him to cherish, as a disciple 
and learner at the feet of his divine Master. " I 
may allow myself," he says in his journal, " to 
speculate with some boldness on points of dogmati- 
cal theology ; I may question — my duty impels me 
to question — on what grounds every received arti- 
cle of faith is rested by those who defend it. I may 
question the origin and authority of the Scriptures ; 
but when I have admitted their divine original, I 
have only to ask what they teach. And O may I 
ever ask with an honest, humble heart. The 
teachings of the divine Jesus I cannot question, 
even if I would. I am compelled, after all my 
speculations, to bow down to him with most un- 
questioning submission and confidence. How 
much, how very much is contained in the simple 
expression of his honest disciple, ' He taught as 
one having authority, and not as the Scribes.' 
Yes, his instructions have more in them than all 
the ingenious speculations of Jewish or Grecian 
doctors, and they come with authority from on 



MEMOIR. 49 

high. It is not by bold speculation these are to 
be learned, or their spirit imbibed. ' He that doeth 
the will of my Father shall know of the doctrine.' 
An honest simplicity of heart will lead to the 
understanding of mysteries which the wise men of 
this world have not known, even the mysteries of 
the soul — of love and faith, and hope and trust 
in God, and that peace that passeth all knowl- 
edge. Most fervently would I pray for that pov- 
erty of spirit, that, meekness and lowliness of mind, 
that guides to the knowledge and imitation of 
Christ. 

In this spirit of Christian simplicity of heart, 
combined with the enthusiasm and independence 
of a true scholar, Mr. Marsh prosecuted and com- 
pleted his theological education at Andover. Nor 
should I fail to mention, that he felt, during all this 
time, the same interest which he ever afterwards 
continued to manifest, in the great benevolent en- 
terprizes of the day. Thus he says in one of his 
letters, dated April 14th, 1822 : " I am more and 
more convinced, — indeed, I was convinced long 
ago, — I feel more and more, that whatever is con- 
trary to the highest religious elevation and purity, 
is not only sinful, but disgraceful. In other words, 
my philosophy and my habitual feelings coincide 
more, I trust, with the spirit of religion ; and it is 
not self-denial, but pleasure to engage in its du- 
ties. You may think this a roundabout way of 
telling you a simple fact ; but in my mind it is 
not so simple as it may seem. I have thought 
more than ever, of late, on the great efforts made 



50 MEMOIR. 

to evangelize the world, and of the exceeding 
desirableness of that great object. It is the cause 
of God, and my prayers shall daily ascend for its 
prosperity. In one way or another, too, I hope I 
may yet do something for a cause so grand, where 
it is an honor to add but one stone to the mighty 
structure. I know not, and have for myself but 
little choice, in what way it may be, whether with 
my voice or my pen ; but 1 could not die in peace 
without the consciousness of having at least at- 
tempted something, as a co-worker with the holy 
men, who are honored as the instruments of God 
in doing his own glorious work. I have always, 
indeed, approved it as the glory of the age, but 
have not had my enthusiasm enkindled in regard 
to it, as a work in which / wish to engage. 
Henceforth my voice and my influence, whatever 
may be my situation, will, I hope and believe, be 
most decidedly on the part of all that is godlike 
and benevolent. I am beginning to prepare my- 
self for the active duties of a minister, and am 
ready to believe I shall find more pleasure in it 
than I have ever done in my studies." 

I should mention, that some time during his 
last year at Andover, he wrote an article, which 
made its appearance in the July number for that 
year of the North American Review, and con- 
tained the results of his studies for some time past 
in the favorite branches of taste and criticism. 
It is a review of an Italian work by Gattinara di 
Brerne, and bears the running title of " Ancient 
and Modern Poetry ; M but it was the writer's 



MEMOIR. 51 

design to point out the distinguishing features of 
modern genius as compared with the ancient; and 
more particularly to show how much, in the pecu- 
liar character of modern art, is due to the influence 
of Christianity in giving a more spiritual direction 
to the powers of the human mind. The subject 
was one upon which he had read extensively, and 
reflected still more than he had read. This is 
evident on every page of the essay, which, so far 
from bearing any of the marks of a new and un- 
practised hand, might easily be mistaken for the 
production of a veteran critic. The performance 
did him great credit in the estimation of all whose 
good opinion he was most anxious to win. 

About the same time, he engaged in another lit- 
erary enterprize, of somewhat greater moment. 
In connexion with a friend then residing at the 
Seminary as a licentiate, he undertook to translate 
and prepare for the press, the German work of 
Bellerman, on the Geography of the Scriptures. 
The great want, which he felt to exist, of a stan- 
dard work in the English language on this impor- 
tant branch of Biblical learning, rather than any 
hopes of profit or fame, w 7 as his chief inducement 
in employing himself upon so dry a task ; nor did 
he desist from it, until, on his part, it was fully 
completed. 

The effect of this intense and continuous appli- 
cation of mind began now, for the first time, to 
manifest itself upon his health ; and, by the per- 
suasion of his friends, he was induced to throw 
aside his studies for the present, in order to try the 



62 MEMOIR. 

benefits of a short sea voyage, and of a visit to 
the South. He embarked at Boston, on board a 
coaster bound for New York, with. the intention, 
when he arrived there, of shaping his course in the 
way that promised to be most agreeable. After 
spending a short time among the friends whom he 
found in New York, he proceeded to Princeton, 
where he arrived in the first days of May, when 
nature was in full bloom, and, as he expresses it, 
" the air filled with fragrance and with poetry." 
Writing from Princeton, he says : " In general, I 
find myself, thus far, much better pleased with this 
country, than with New England ; partly from the 
climate, and partly from the more social character 
of the people ; and, were it not for my friends, 
might be strongly tempted to forget the land of 
my fathers. I am aware that much of the pleas- 
ure I now feel, however, is to be attributed to cir- 
cumstances that are not permanent, and so my es- 
timate may be unfair ; and very probably may be 
changed, when I arrive again in our delightful val- 
lies. Horace has somewhere said, that change of 
place does not change the mind ; but really, I be- 
lieve he was mistaken, for I find mine changing 
with every scene." This journey, which he un- 
dertook simply for the restoration of his health, 
was the means of introducing him to many new 
and valuable friends, some of whom had an impor- 
tant influence in deciding the course of his future 
life. It was at Princeton he first became ac- 
quainted with that excellent man, the Rev. Dr. 



MEMOIR. 53 

Rice, by whose means he was led, eventually, to 
direct his steps to Virginia. 

Having spent several weeks in this tour to the 
South, which he extended as far as Philadelphia, 
he returned home by the way of New 7 Haven. 
Here he passed some days in the family of the 
venerable Dr. Morse, who took a strong interest 
in his behalf, and urged him, after the completion 
of his professional studies, to establish himself in 
that town, as the editor of a religious periodical 
review. This plan, though in the end it issued in 
nothing, long occupied a place in Mr. Marsh's 
thoughts ; who never wholly relinquished it, in- 
deed, until he had finally concluded to take up his 
residence at the South. After a short visit to his 
friends in New Hampshire and Vermont, he was 
enabled, in June, to resume his studies, which he 
prosecuted with unabated vigor till the following 
September, when he left the Seminary, to enter 
upon the more untried scenes of active life. 

To many young men, especially those of a re- 
tiring disposition, there is no period of life more 
trying and full of anxieties and depressions, than 
that which intervenes between the attainment of a 
profession and the fixing on a place for settlement 
in the world. There are some, who seem to fall 
naturally into their proper position ; others are put 
there by powerful or influential friends. Not a 
few are left to find it as they can ; and the best of 
these must often struggle the hardest, and toil 
through many a year of wandering, before they 
can arrive at the field which Providence has al- 



54 MEMOIR. 

lotted them. This proved to be a long and pain- 
ful season of suspense to Mr. Marsh. He had 
many reasons for wishing to be soon settled in life. 
It was a torment to his active mind, to be left 
without any definite object ; while, moreover, his 
outward relations and engagements seemed to urge 
upon him the necessity of fixing, with the least 
possible delay, upon his sphere of action. 

He had looked forward to this necessity with a 
sort of shrinking dread ; for although conscious 
of possessing talents and qualifications which fitted 
him for eminent usefulness, yet he had little or no 
confidence in himself, as possessing those exterior 
advantages which are soonest to strike the eye of 
the world ; and the very idea of soliciting patron- 
age, or subjecting himself, in any way, to a condi- 
tion of servility or dependence, was most abhor- 
rent to all his feelings. Hence, as I have before 
observed, he proposed, at first, on leaving his stud- 
ies at Andover, to live, for a while, on his father's 
farm. "It is very essential," he said, in address- 
ing the person most interested in his decision, " it 
is very essential to my happiness and usefulness, 
to be able to pursue my objects in my own way ; 
and, with the independence and leisure which I 
may hope to secure, I have little doubt that I sh^ll 
bring to pass more in five years, than I shall with 
the perplexity that is likely to attend any public 
employment which is open to me." 

The few friends at Andover, to whom he dis- 
closed his plans, thought it a romantic scheme, 
much fairer in prospect, than it would prove to be 



MEMOIR. 55 

in the actual trial : and assured him, that at all 
events, he would not be suffered to remain long in 
his retreat. Some of them believed that he would 
find reasons for abandoning his plan before he left 
the Seminary. There appears to have been some 
ground for this conjecture ; for shortly after, the 
prospect was held out to him from a quarter where 
it was not altogether unexpected, of an active em- 
ployment, quite agreeable to his wishes. An effort 
had been made, I believe, by his friends at Prince- 
ton, to procure him a place as an assistant to Dr. 
Rice, in the editorship of a theological and literary 
magazine, to be published at Philadelphia. Assured 
of the friendship of Dr. Rice, and the favorable 
opinion which that gentleman entertained of his 
qualifications to write for a public journal, he 
thought it not unlikely that he might soon hear 
from him on the subject. Thus he was " hung 
up for a while," as he expresses it, " between 
Philadelphia and the farm, and vibrating with a 
very irregular motion." 

About this time, Dr. Green left the presidential 
chair of Nassau Hall College, in New Jersey, and 
Dr. Rice was elected his successor. In a letter to 
Mr. Marsh from one of his Princeton friends, it is 
intimated that Professor Lindsey, who was then 
connected with the same college, might perhaps 
be chosen to the place left by Dr. Green ; and 
that, in this case, Mr. Marsh would be strongly 
recommended to the vacant Professorship. But 
however that may have been, the unsettled posi- 
tion of his friend Dr. Rice, destroyed all the pros- 



/«3 



56 MEMOIR. 

pects of Mr. Marsh for the present at the south, 
and he made up his mind to go home to the farm. 

How he employed himself there, I have no 
means of ascertaining, from his letters or journal : 
except that a month or two after his return home, 
he appears to have been engaged on the transla- 
tion of Bellermann, which he finished in Decem- 
ber, having despatched five hundred pages in a 
fortnight. He was now without an object to de- 
tain him at home ; and, harrassed with doubt and 
perplexity, he at last resolved to throw himself in- 
to the scenes of life, where exertion would be 
called for, and struggle to perform what the provi- 
dence of God should seem to point out as his duty 
in the world. So on the 6th of January, 1824, 
he left his father's house, in compliance, as it would 
seem, with an invitation from Dr. Rice, and arrived 
at Princeton in the middle of the same month. 

From Princeton he writes home, as follows : 
" Of my future prospects, I can tell you nothing 
new at present. Dr. Rice has not declined the 
presiding here, and the whole matter is yet in a 
state of uncertainty. Dr. R. was still sick at 
Hampden Sidney College, three or four weeks 
since, but was improving, and is probably at Rich- 
mond before this. From what I can learn, my 
business there will be principally with the maga- 
zine ; and whether anything permanent is to be 
expected, here or there, is yet entirely in the dark. 
But if I gain nothing else, I have an opportunity 
to try the strength of my own faith and patience, 
and I hope the occasion will not be lost. If what 



MEMOIR. 51 

ts lost, in worldly prospects, is gained in firmness 
and consistency of christian character, the loss will 
be great gain. You see that I am in a serious 
mood, and look upon life with very sober feelings ; 
but do not think that I am discouraged or unhap- 
py. I trust I have too much philosophy, and 
above all too much faith, to have my feelings very 
greatly depressed by any such vicissitudes as may 
happen to me. If we have still to learn that hap- 
piness is not to be sought in worldly prospects, a 
severe lesson may not be useless." 

He proceeded onward to visit Dr. Rice at Rich- 
mond, and was received by that noble-hearted 
man and his excellent lady, with a frank and cor- 
dial welcome. The doctor himself was but just 
recovered from a most distressing and tedious sick- 
ness, which had reduced him to the very brink of 
the grave. Mr. Marsh gives an interesting account 
of his first appearance in public, before his people, 
which shows in a most favorable light the amiable 
character of the man with whom the destinies of 
his life seemed now about to be connected. " He 
yesterday attended meeting in the morning ; and 
after service by another (for he was unable to 
preach), he slowly climbed into the pulpit and ap- 
peared to his people, for the first time in public. 
He alluded in the most impressive manner to his 
sickness, and in reference to the deep interest and 
earnest prayer of his people, said, I stand before 
you as one prayed back from the brink of eternity. 
The people were all in tears, and I was never 
more interested than at such an expression of feel- 
8 



58 MEMOIR. 

ing between a pastor and his people, especially 
when, trembling with agitation, he leaned upon the 
desk, while the whole congregation united in sing- 
ing the doxology, with tears in their eyes." 

In this amiable family, and in the pleasant soci- 
ety of Richmond, Mr. Marsh spent several weeks, 
before any thing was decided as to his future em- 
ployment. " The family," he says, " have treated 
me with the greatest friendship, and I feel more 
attached to them than I could have believed I 
should in so short a time. Their affectionate kind- 
ness, indeed, makes me ashamed of my constitu- 
tional coldness and reserve ; for I can find neither 
language nor gestures to make a suitable return 
for the attentions which I continually receive. 
Mrs. R. especially treats me with the confidence 
of a sister ; and she seems resolved to think that 
the doctor and I shall somehow fall pretty near to- 
gether, wherever our lot is fixed in the world. He 
is now balancing between Princeton and Hamp- 
den Sidney ; and the strong attraction here keeps 
him at present from falling either way. We have 
both been struck with the coincidence of our views 
and feelings on almost all the important subjects 
on which we have conversed ; and I know few 
things that would be more desirable to me in set- 
tling, than to be connected with him. But it will 
be hard, 1 am aware, to break off the ties that 
hold us to New England." At length it was de- 
cided that Mr. Marsh should go to Hampden Sid- 
ney, but with what prospects, or in what capacity, 
seems to have been left somewhat doubtful. In 



MEMOIR. 59 

announcing this, Mr. Marsh says, " I have no 
doubt, though he has not said it in so marry 
words, that Dr. Rice has some view to his own 
decision in sending me there. The worst circum- 
stances is, that my duty is so undefined, that I 
shall be in danger of doing nothing to my satisfac- 
tion ; but I hope to do some good." The follow- 
ing was his first letter from Hampden Sidney, and 
is interesting as giving his first impressions of the 
scene of his future labors. 

" H. S. College, Feb. 25, 1823. 
" I am once more seated in a solitary room, and 
at leisure to let my thoughts wander at will, at 
least for a few moments. But they very soon reach 
the place of their destination, though it is far away. 
No sooner do I seat myself alone, and look upon 
the magic characters that are written in the fire, 
than I feel as if mounted upon " the wondrous 
horse of brass," and am transported in a moment's 
time to the fairy land of our own green hills and 
greener meadows. I can scarcely see, so swift is 
the motion of the " bridleless steed," the vast 
regions that vanish behind me, till I reach the lit- 
tle retreat where I have so often wandered. I 
know when I approach it, by the green hills and 
mountains ; and even the snow that covers the 
whole, with its sparkling uniformity, cannot de- 
ceive me. The moment I look from the fire, the 
charm is dissolved. The little naked, white- 
washed room, the fireplace without furniture, the 
face of the country all around, the woolly-headed 



60 MEMOIR. 

servants, and the recollection of many a tedious 
mile, remind me that the comforts of a New Eng- 
land home are far from me. But I do not mean 
to give jbu a very sad picture of Virginia, lest I 
should have occasion to varnish it over again. 
But if you should ever be inclined to come here, 
I can tell you something of what you will meet 
with. You will find the whole household estab- 
lishment on a most wretched footing. The 
houses of the most respectable families in this 
country are not so well provided with what we 
call conveniences of life, as those of ordinary farm- 
ers in New England. Every thing is left to the 
servants, and every thing is out of order. But 
the Virginians hate trouble, and so concern them- 
selves little about it. They never make any apol- 
ogies, but welcome you kindly and heartily to such 
as they have. The servants are generally negli- 
gent, and a day behind-hand, (a Yankee phrase,) 
and a stranger, at first, fares among them but 
poorly. Here I live quite in college style ; have a 
room by myself in friend Cushing's house, and 
board with him and three other young gentlemen, 
(students,) quite in an old bachelor way. No 
woman is connected with the establishment, but a 
black cook, in another building. I have a few 
Hebrew scholars, and meet with the theological 
society of students, and preach occasionally. Dr. 
Rice is still deliberating about coming here to 
establish a theological seminary. If he comes, as 
he probably will, he will wish me to be connected 
with him. But whether he will have sufficient 



MEMOIR. 61 

means to support an assistant, and whether, if he 
does, it will be my duty to make a longer stay 
here than I contemplated, are questions that I can- 
not decide at present. We must leave our con- 
cerns with Providence, and I pray that I may be 
prepared to do what that shall direct, with submis- 
sion, if not with cheerfulness. 

"I have found good people here, and am in the 
room which the good Dr. Hoge occupied as his 
study. The names of Drury, Lacy, and of Dr. 
Alexander, are written about the windows and 
walls. The shadows of many good men, indeed, 
seem to rise up around me, and exhort me to do 
with my might what my hands find to do. Pray 
for me, that I may be a faithful servant of the 
Lord Jesus." 

Mr. Marsh found many friends in the pleasant 
neighborhood of Hampden Sidney ; but the nature 
of the employment in which he was now engaged, 
as well as the entire uncertainty of his future pros- 
pects, depressed and discouraged him. He ex- 
presses these feelings in his next letter. " Good 
as the people are," he says, " and well as I am 
treated, I feel myself alone. In a word, I was 
never made for society. The feelings that might 
flow spontaneously in solitude with my friends, 
are chilled, and all powers of sympathy destroyed, 
by the intercourse of the world. I have not 
learned, and never can learn, to throw myself 
into the bustle of society and enjoy the unre- 
strained intercourse of feelings. Either my heart 
is not sufficiently susceptible by nature, or I have 



62 MEMOIR. 

loaded it too much with the lumber of learning, 
and kept it mewed up too long in the cell of the 
student- It has strong and permanent attach- 
ments, and I feel their strength now more than 
ever ; but the lighter spirits that float nearer the 
surface of the soul, and are ready to flash out on 
every occasion, are exhausted by the midnight 
lamp, or more probably were never there. I am 
sometimes almost resolved to give up this vain at- 
tempt to act in public, and devote myself to study, 
till an opportunity to be useful as a literary man shall 
present itself. I am satisfied that I shall never 
do any thing valuable in any other way ; and the 
attempt only leaves such a feeling of discourage- 
ment and dissatisfaction with myself, as makes 
me unhappy, and in the end unfits me for doing 
any thing." 

The acting in public, to which he alludes above, 
was preaching ; a duty for which, even under the 
most favorable circumstances, he never thought 
himself well calculated ; and which must have 
been peculiarly irksome and painful in the present 
depression of his mind. One of his correspond- 
ents at Hampden Sidney afterwards good-humor- 
edly alluded to his "attempts" of this sort, and 
thought them by no means so bad. " The sinks" 
he says, "you used to make at college, are fre- 
quently spoken of. This should encourage you to 
do better, if you still continue to preach, which, I 
hope, is the case." 

Tired, at length, of the suspense and uncer- 
tainty, from which he saw no prospect of being 



MEMOIR. 63 

very soon relieved, Mr. Marsh determined to aban- 
don all expectations of being usefully employed at 
the South, and turned his steps towards home, 
where he arrived some time in the month of May. 
The little success, which he imagined he had met 
with in his pulpit essays in Virginia, led him to 
turn his attention, more seriously than ever, to 
other fields of exertion ; and he now resolved to 
devote himself to literary labors, provided the way 
should be opened for his doing it with the pros- 
pect of usefulness to his fellow men. He thought 
he saw an opening of this sort at New Haven, 
where an editor was wanted for the Christian 
Spectator. Accordingly, he wrote a letter of in- 
quiry to a friend ; and, while waiting for the an- 
swer, which was delayed long beyond his hopes, 
addressed the following consolatory lines to Miss 
Wheelock, now in Maine, who naturally sympa- 
thized in all the trials with which he was himself 
so perplexed and embarrassed. " There are many 
things which we look upon as blessings, that are 
incompatible with each other, from their own na- 
ture or ours; and it is very probable that, after 
comparing what we possess with other things that 
we wish for, we should find such to be the case 
with them, and deliberately prefer our present 
condition. The different parts of our fortune must 
be consistent with each other ; and wealth and 
worldly prosperity are not often found joined with 
the meek and patient temper, which I hope we 
may both cherish and love more than any outward 
distinctions, ' Let Euphorion (says Bishop Tay- 



64 MEMOIR. 

lor,) live quietly with his old rich wife ; and re- 
member, thou canst not have his riches, unless you 
have his wife too.' Now, for myself, I know few 
with whom I would exchange circumstances, on 
the whole, poorly as I think of some of mine. But 
the most trying thing to our pride, after all, is, to 
admit that we need consolation. The very idea 
of it, as of being pitied, is humiliating; and it is 
more natural to harden ourselves against disap- 
pointment, and take refuge in self-confidence and 
pride, than meekly to study wisdom and content- 
ment by such reflections. This is especially the 
case, when our fortune seems to depend chiefly 
upon ourselves ; and to keep one's feelings calm 
and unruffled, to be patient and humble, in such 
circumstances, is itself a great victory. You will 
think, from this style, that I am in very low spirits, 
and looking on every side for support; but it is not 
the case. I am studying with some diligence ; 
and hope, as soon as a door of usefulness is opened, 
to engage with some zeal and success. In the 
mean time, my dear L., let us employ the means 
of happiness and usefulness in our power; and, in 
whatsoever state we are, therewith be content 
ourselves, and diffuse peace and contentment 
around us." 

The answer from his friend at New Haven at 
last arrived, and the prospect, of which he never 
had very high notions, proved so much more indef- 
inite and discouraging than he feared, that he im- 
mediately wrote to decline any further action un- 
der the conditions proposed. It was a great pity 



MEMOIR. 65 

that Mr. Marsh's application, in this case, met 
with no better success ; for no man could have 
been found, who would have entered with a more 
genial spirit into the management of such a work ; 
and, undoubtedly, no efforts would have been 
spared by him, to render it such as he had marked 
out in his imagination. About this time, some of 
his friends, without his own knowledge, used their 
influence to find a place for him at Cambridge ; 
and one or two of the Professors, to whom the 
subject was mentioned, spoke favorably of the 
plan. But before any thing definite could be done, 
the sky began to break in another quarter; and 
Mr. Marsh was summoned to meet Dr. Rice, whose 
plans were now matured, and who was recruiting 
his health at Saratoga Springs. Mr. Marsh lost 
no time in complying with the invitation of that 
noble and well-tried friend ; and soon wrote back 
from Troy, with the good spirits of a man who 
had found, at last, what he had almost learned to 
give up in despair. 

"I met Dr. Rice," he says, "yesterday, in Al- 
bany, and have spent part of the day with him and 
Mrs. Rice, at Dr. Chester's. I find every thing 
arranged as I had wished ; and the course of my 
own future labors is at last so defined, that I know 
what I have to do, and can begin to act with a 
view to a connected and regular plan. I begin to 
feel, indeed, as if the field of my labor was spread 
before me, and the horrors of suspense and doubt 
and indecision are losing their hold. My efforts, 
for the present, will be divided between the Col- 
9 



66 MEMOIR. 

lege and the Theological School ; but the instruc- 
tion will all be in departments in which I am much 
interested, and for which I am, perhaps, best qual- 
ified." 

Before setting his face to the South, however, 
Mr. Marsh made a journey through the White 
Hills, to Saco, in Maine, for the purpose of visit- 
ing his friend and the destined companion of his 
labors in the field he was about to visit. From 
thence he went to Boston, and soon after took 
passage, in a coaster, for Norfolk, where he ar- 
rived safely on the last of November. 

The passage was a stormy one ; and Mr. Marsh, 
who was the only person in the cabin free from 
sickness, found employment enough in taking care 
of the passengers who were not so well off. 
Among the rest was a little black-eyed Jewess of 
fifteen, who spoke and wrote German, Dutch, 
French and English, and read Hebrew. "You 
may well suppose," he says, " that I would be a 
good deal interested in this fine daughter of Abra- 
ham, as well from her origin, as her personal char- 
acter. She seems a very inexperienced and sim- 
ple girl, though she has been in several of the 
European capitals, and resided in most of the prin- 
cipal cities in this country. She has been so sick, 
too, all the way, as scarcely to be able to help 
herseif at all ; and, some of the time, could not 
even hold up her head ; so that I was compelled, 
though, indeed, no compulsion was necessary, in a 
case of so much helplessness and distress to place 
myself by her side, and afford all the support and 



MEMOIR. 67 

assistance in my power, in the midst of confusion 
and sometimes of terror." The young Jewess 
was the only other passenger in the ship, besides 
himself, bound for Richmond ; and when they ar- 
rived, introduced her friendly companion and pro- 
tector to her father's family, and a host of Jewish 
acquaintances. The next morning, he went to the 
Synagogue, and was much gratified with the op- 
portunity to witness their religious service. When 
this was over, " several of the congregation came 
to me at once," he says, " and spoke to me, and 
seemed much gratified to have observed that I read 
the Hebrew with points. Some very interesting 
looking boys, especially, seemed anxious to talk 
with me ; and I had several quite polite and even 
pressing invitations to call on them. I am the 
more pleased, as they, in fact, know little of He- 
brew, and seem anxious to learn; and I hope I 
may be of some service to them." These details 
are so characteristic of the man, that I could not 
forbear, though at some risk of being tedious, in- 
serting them in this place. 

At Richmond he soon had the pleasure of meet- 
ing Dr. Rice and his lady, who arrived from Bos- 
ton by land, not an hour after himself. Here he 
had another opportunity of witnessing the strong 
attachment of the people to their former pastor. 
" I felt," he says on this occasion, " as if I was too 
much a stranger, and had too little sympathy with 
the strong feeling that was expressed. One com- 
pany had hardly dried their tears, till others of the 
good doctor's people came in, and some of them 



68 MEMOIR. 

sobbed aloud, as they hung upon Dr. and Mrs. 
Rice, and kissed them. In short we were all very 
happy to be together in Richmond." 

His happiness was not less, when he found him- 
self, at last, quietly settled and engaged in the in- 
teresting and important duties of his calling, asso- 
ciated with such a man as Dr. Rice, whose excel- 
lent qualities of mind and heart opened more and 
more upon him, on better acquaintance. " Taking 
him all in all," he said, " I value his character 
more than that of any man whom I have yet 
known, decidedly. He is a great and good man, 
with the devotion of a primitive saint, and the en- 
thusiasm of a scholar." Thus pleasantly situated, 
with a definite object before him, and the prospect 
of more extended usefulness, Mr. Marsh soon re- 
gained the vigor and elasticity of mind to which 
he had been long a stranger, and entered with an 
ardor which he inspired in all around him, into his 
cherished but long neglected studies. " I was 
kept up last night," he says in a letter which he 
wrote soon after commencing his duties at Hamp- 
den Sidney, "till 12 o'clock, by a discussion in a 
society we have formed here, and which, by the 
excitement and interest it is producing, reminds 
me of Hanover more strongly than any thing of 
the kind 1 have enjoyed since the days of my 
tutorship." I cannot forbear to remark here, that 
the excitement and interest of which he speaks, 
was a contagion caught from his own mind, and 
which seldom failed to be spread by his simple, 
earnest words, whenever he spoke upon any sub- 



MEMOIR. 69 

ject with which his own mind was full. This was 
one among many other causes of his great power 
and success as a teacher. " I slept but little," he 
continues, " and dreamed of < auld lang syne.' 
And I am never more happy, than in that state of 
feverish excitement, in which the mind is too 
much roused to admit of sleep. I feel then the 
superior dignity and worth of mind, too serious 
for anything volatile or playful, and my thoughts 
fix on great and serious subjects. I feel, too, a 
consciousness of intellectual strength, that may 
have something of pride mixed with it, but which 
still I would not lose, because it prompts me to 
worthy enterprizes. You perceive I am getting 
my thoughts and feelings aroused here, and acquir- 
ing self-confidence once more. I am doing so : 
and I see here a field of labor, large enough for all 
the powers I ever had the vanity to think myself 
possessed of." There was but one perplexing dif- 
ficulty to be encountered, and one which, even to 
the candid and liberal mind of Mr. Marsh, ever 
ready to make the largest allowance for habits of 
thinking and feeling different from his own, seem- 
ed insurmountable. " Slavery," he says, " presses 
upon this southern country with an intolerable 
weight. In whatever direction I turn my thoughts, 
to devise plans for the intellectual and moral im- 
provement of the people, slavery and its necessary 
accompaniments stare me in the face, and mock 
me with the fruitlessness of my efforts. The sim- 
ple and obvious fact, that men who have from fifty 
to a hundred slaves, must have large plantations to 



70 MEMOIR. 

support them, and must consequently live scattered 
at a distance from each other, presents, of itself, 
insuperable difficulties in the way of any high de- 
gree of cultivation." 

The particular employment of Mr. Marsh, in 
his connexion both with the college and with the 
theological school, was the teaching of languages ; 
but he meant by no means to confine himself to 
that comparatively limited sphere. Some of his 
friends were anxious that he should preach ; and 
were at a loss to see why so good a talker might 
not talk in the pulpit as well as elsewhere. But 
he looked upon the matter in a different light. 
" I have," he says, "an unconquerable inclination 
to a course of thinking, and habits of mind, which 
are almost or quite incompatible with preaching ; 
and in following which, I hope to be more useful 
than I could ever hope to be as a public speaker. 
Every man who can wield a pen and write to the 
purpose, and who sees the state and prospects of 
this country, ought to feel himself called on to use 
it in the promotion of moral principles and right 
views of religious and moral improvement. Shall 
I tell you, — I would aim, if I could hope to pro- 
duce even a little effect, to influence the views of 
intelligent men, and rouse all who have the ca- 
pacity, to something of enthusiasm in promoting 
the solid and permanent moral interests and the 
highest happiness of this free and happy country, 
to wipe away the dark stain of slavery, and be- 
come, in the language of Milton, the soberest, 



MEMOIR. 71 

wisest, and most christian people of these latter 
days." 

In the theological school especially, to the es- 
tablishment of which Dr. Rice had consecrated his 
life, Mr. Marsh took the deepest interest, as an 
institution most intimately connected with all those 
objects which he thought it most desirable to pro- 
mote. But like the great and good man who had 
given himself wholly to it, he was for placing it 
on the broadest foundation, and for having it de- 
voted to no other interest than simply Christ and 
the church. " What is wanted here," he said, 
" is a school as free as possible from sectarian feel- 
ings, with liberal plans, and primitive zeal and 
devotion. I most sincerely desire that such an 
one may be built up ; and could I be useful in 
accomplishing it, would do almost any thing in my 
power to do, but shall never sacrifice my inde- 
pendence of opinion, or labor upon the paltry lit- 
tleness of any human system." 

It was with this school Mr. Marsh expected to be 
ultimately connected as Professor of the Oriental 
languages. This was the wish of Dr. Rice ; and 
the presbytery who had the oversight of the Insti- 
tution, cordially concurred in it. As the funds, 
however, did not at present suffice for the full 
support of a Professor in that department, Mr. 
Marsh was solicited to remain for a time on 
a somewhat different footing, but which would 
make him sure of an adequate support. Every 
thing seemed now prepared for his permanent 
settlement in life. Accordingly, in the summer 



72 MEMOIR. 

of 1824, he set out on his return to New Eng- 
land, for the purpose of being married, and making 
such other arrangements as were suited to his 
present plans. 

Instead of taking the direct route and trav- 
elling in the speediest way, Mr. Marsh chose to 
improve this opportunity to visit, at his leisure, 
whatever was most remarkable and interesting in 
the State which he had now adopted as his own. 
Accordingly he started on horseback, and directed 
his course towards the West. I have heard him 
speak of this journey as one of the most pleasant 
and interesting he ever made. He saw much 
that was new in men and manners, as well as in 
the face of nature, and tried life in some of its 
strangest forms. One night he reached, almost 
dead with fatigue, the log-hut of a German widow, 
near the highest point of the Capen mountains. 
The sons were out hunting bears ; but the old lady 
said she never turned any body away, and it was 
five miles to another house. " So," says he, " I 
waited upon myself, or, in the woman's dialect, 
* gave some truck to my critter,' and after a frugal 
supper of apples and milk, climbed the ladder, and 
went to bed, among all sorts of lumber and all 
kinds of four-footed beasts and creeping things." 
The garret, however, he observes, was well aired, 
and he could see, as they revolved around, all the 
hosts of heaven. At another time, he passed the 
Sabbath in the family of an old Scotch Presbyte- 
rian, who possessed all the strong peculiarities of 
his race, and with his broad accent spent nearly 



MEMOIR, 73 

the whole day in giving him his light on many 
passages of the Bible. He had lived there, in 
the very heart of the Alleghany, for thirty years, 
with very few neighbors, and those mostly igno- 
rant Germans .; and when a stranger called upon 
him who seemed able to receive the light, he 
felt himself called upon to let it shine for the 
benefit of the world. His wife was from the 
neighborhood of Washington, with the manners 
and education of a lady. Our traveller marvelled 
somewhat, and was very much interested to meet 
with such a family in that mountainous wilder- 
ness. At Brownsville, on the banks of the Mo- 
nongahela, he visited his brother, who had been 
settled there for several years ; and the three hun- 
dred miles which he had travelled on horseback 
having fully satisfied his inclination, he now sold 
his horse, and performed the rest of the journey 
by the way of Lake Erie, and down the canal to 
Albany. 

As soon as he had arrived among his friends at 
the north, he received the notice of his appoint- 
ment to a Professorship in Hampden Sidney Col- 
lege. At Hanover, on the 12th of October, he 
was ordained to the sacred office of a christian 
minister ; on the 14th was married, and immedi- 
ately thereupon set out with his wife for their new 
home, which they reached in health and safety, on 
the 30th of the same month. While at the north, 
some of his friends had predicted that he would 
not be suffered to remain long out of New Eng- 
land. He smiled at the well meant compliment ; 
10 



74 MEMOIR. 

but saw no reason to complain of his lot, or to sup- 
pose that it might be changed. The department 
assigned to him in the college, was not the one he 
would be likely to have chosen for himself. He 
was conscious of being better fitted for another 
sphere. In the knowledge of languages, it is true, 
both ancient and modern, his attainments were ex- 
tensive ; but he had studied them rather for his 
own use, than with any view or expectation of 
teaching them to others. To the minute accuracy 
of a well trained grammatical scholar, he made 
little pretension ; perhaps his habits would never 
have allowed him to become a great proficient 
in that branch of learning. But his idea of what 
constitutes a philologist was both just and ade- 
quate ; and, as it now seemed evidently to be the 
design of Providence that this should be the busi- 
ness of his life, he set himself earnestly to the task 
of preparing himself thoroughly for his duties, 
gathering around him for this purpose, all the 
means he could find at hand, and sending abroad 
for such necessary books as he could not obtain 
nearer home. At the same time he exerted him- 
self to excite a greater interest in classical studies, 
and to correct the popular notion, which had al- 
ready crept into some of the schools of learning, 
that such studies are useless, and ought no longer 
to have a place in our systems of education. On 
this subject his opinion was very decided ; and it 
may not be out of place to insert here, some of the 
views which he shortly afterwards embodied in an 
able article published in the Christian Spectator. "It 



MEMOIR. 75 

is not merely," he maintained, " as forming habits 
of mind, the benefits of which are to be afterwards 
enjoyed, that the employment of months and years 
in the study of language is to be defended. It 
must, from the nature of the case, be the most di- 
rect and effectual method, if faithfully pursued, of 
developing our own minds, and hastening our in- 
tellectual growth. This will be the result, to some 
extent, whatever language be the object of atten- 
tion, if it be studied critically, and its principles 
fully comprehended. But for the purposes of gen- 
eral instruction, it is our duty to employ, as the 
instruments of cultivation, those languages which 
exhibit the most regular and the most perfect de- 
velopement of the human mind. In making our- 
selves masters of these, as contained in their clas- 
sic authors, * * we do indeed appropriate to our- 
selves the intellectual treasures of many genera- 
tions. In the organization of a language, philo- 
sophically contemplated and understood, we have 
the human mind itself, as it were, exhibited to our 
view r in its complex and diversified operations. In 
studying a language like the Greek, containing a 
regular structure and systematic developement 
from its own radical forms, we trace the gradual 
and progressive evolutions of thought ; we follow 
the mind in the history of its advancement ; and 
often in investigating the derivative forms of a sin- 
gle root, and observing the relations and transitions 
of thought which they exhibit, we obtain views 
and secure a knowledge of the human mind, of 
more interest to the philosopher than the history 



76 MEMOIR. 

of an Oriental dynasty." While thus laboring to 
promote a spirit of classical learning in the Col- 
lege, he did not forget the other duties which de- 
volved on him, in his connexion with the Theolog- 
ical School. He made it a point to read every 
day a portion of Hebrew, and he began to study 
the Aramaic and Syriac languages. He now com- 
menced also the translation of Herder's Spirit of 
Hebrew Poetry, the first parts of which were pub- 
lished in several successive numbers of the Chris- 
tian Repository at Princeton. At the same time 
he kept up an active literary correspondence with 
scholars, both at the north and the south, and with 
some of our missionaries among the Indians, from 
whom he drew much curious information respect- 
ing the forms and structure of the languages 
spoken by those southern tribes. 

From first to last, Mr. Marsh was connected 
with Hampden Sidney College about three years ; 
a time hardly sufficient to enable him fully to re- 
alize any of his plans. But when he was called, 
as he so soon was, into another field, he left behind 
him an impression of his competency to fulfil the 
highest expectations of his friends ; and during 
that short period, many young minds took from him 
a direction which decided their characters for life, 
as was long afterwards, in several cases, gratefully 
acknowledged. 

In October, 1826, Mr. Marsh was appointed 
President of the University in his native State. It 
was not the first time he had been thought of, as 
a suitable person to fill that responsible office. As 



MEMOIR. 77 

early as 1821, while a theological student at An- 
dover, he had been consulted about becoming a 
candidate for the place, which happened then to 
be vacant. But, by the advice of his friends, he 
prudently declined making any positive engage- 
ment ; and such, indeed, was the condition of the 
college, and so uncertain were its prospects, that 
the corporation proceeded no farther, on that occa- 
sion, than to appoint a temporary head ; leaving it 
in the power of the faculty to suspend, at any mo- 
ment they pleased, the course of public instruction. 
The affairs of the college were now in a some- 
what better condition. Since the time I have just 
spoken of, the old college edifice, it is true, had 
been destroyed by fire; but this misfortune, which 
was already, in a measure, repaired by the erection 
of new buildings, had been the means of calling 
forth an expression of public sympathy which au- 
gured well, inasmuch as it evinced the interest still 
felt in the State for the preservation of its oldest 
institution of learning. In other respects, how- 
ever, there was not much that could be considered 
very hopeful or inviting. The students were few 
in number ; the funds not wholly free from embar- 
rassment ; the library and apparatus a mere name ; 
and besides, an impression seemed to prevail with 
many, that an institution doomed to so many 
strange calamities, was never destined to succeed, 
and had better be given up by its friends. 

All these circumstances were well known to Mr. 
Marsh ; nor had he failed to measure his own 
strength, and to consider how far he was prepared 



78 MEMOIR. 

to contend with such difficulties. The situation, 
as he states in his journal, was not one for which 
he supposed himself, in all respects, best qualified. 
But he thought that, on the whole, the way of his 
duty was clear, and resolved to undertake the re- 
sponsible trust, hoping, as he expressed it, that, by 
the Divine assistance, he should be able to conform 
his habits to the duties required of him, and to act 
with energy and effect. To re-establish in the 
public confidence and favor an institution which 
seemed on the very verge of extinction, appeared 
to him an object worthy of his highest efforts ; and 
he saw, moreover, an opportunity, the most favor- 
able that could be desired, for introducing such 
improvements in the system of discipline and in- 
struction, as were called for by the wants of the 
age. This was the great business to which he first 
directed his energies ; and no sooner was the fac- 
ulty reorganized, than he brought it forward as a 
matter for thoughtful inquiry and earnest discus- 
sion. 

I need not say that, on the whole subject of ed- 
ucation, Mr. Marsh's views were liberal and en- 
larged. It would be out of place for me here to 
enter into a full exposition of his opinions on the 
collegiate systems of this country. He had stud- 
ied them faithfully, and compared them with those 
of the old world. I shall content myself with a 
brief statement of what he considered to be the 
chief defects in the prevailing systems, and of the 
means by which he thought these defects might 
be at least partially remedied, without any wide 



MEMOIR. 79 

departure from the spirit and essential character of 
our institutions. 

It was his opinion, that in our colleges gener- 
ally, the rules for the admission of students were 
too limited and inflexible. Admitting the princi- 
ple, he said, in its fullest sense, that the business 
of education is to develope the mind, and to make 
it conscious of its own powers ; and that a certain 
course of studies must be insisted on, as, on the 
whole, best adapted to this end ; jet, why exclude 
any who may be unfortunately prevented from em- 
bracing the whole of this course, from the privi- 
lege of taking that part of it which lies within 
their means ? There seemed to him to be no good 
reason for this. The best system, he maintained, 
is, after all, but partial in its effect ; it cannot give 
a full developement to every capacity of the mind, 
nor fit it alike for all the various pursuits of life. 
Why, then, in aiming exclusively at an object 
which is in itself unattainable, forget others which 
also have their importance ? It is better to have 
a partial education, than none at all ; it is better 
to get this at a college, furnished with ample and 
liberal means of instruction, than at inferior schools, 
where no such means are enjoyed. So he rea- 
soned ; and he believed that the evils, which, it 
might be feared, would result from thus extending 
the privileges of collegiate instruction, were either 
imaginary or could easily be obviated. There was 
no necessity implied in it of lowering the standard 
of education, or of encouraging young men to pur- 



80 MEMOIR. 

sue a partial course, whose circumstances allowed 
them to do more. 

He was also for allowing considerable more lat- 
itude to the native inclinations and tendencies of 
different minds. It was absurd to expect every 
young mind to develope itself in just the same 
way ; and equally absurd to confine each one to 
the same kind and quantity of study, as if it were 
possible for all to receive alike. Wherever a right 
tendency appeared, he thought it should be encour- 
aged, and allowed the freest room to unfold itself; 
and that to set up any particular system of study 
as an absolute law, from which there could be no 
departure, was to forget the true business of edu- 
cation, and sometimes the surest way to frustrate 
its end. But the independence for which he con- 
tended was not an unlimited one. He would still 
have a regular, systematic course of studies for the 
general guidance ; and as this would be adapted to 
the average wants of the students, all might be 
required to conform to it, without preventing or 
discouraging any who might be disposed to push 
their studies in other directions, to whatever ex- 
tent they pleased. 

He thought the methods of instruction in use 
too formal and inefficient. There was not enough 
of actual teaching, and too much importance was 
attached to text-books. He wanted to see more 
constant and familiar intercourse between the 
mind of teacher and learner. The student, he 
held, should be required, not merely to exercise 
his talents in apprehending the ideas of others, 



MEMOIR. 81 

but should have his mind brought in contact with 
those of his instructers, and his own powers of 
thought and judgment invigorated and sharpened 
by competition with theirs. In his opinion, there 
was a want of free and familiar discussion, and of 
such actual trial of the scholar's powers, as would 
give him the habit of applying them with promp- 
titude and effect, and impart that knowledge of 
one's own resources, which is so important in the 
business of life. 

In regard to morals and formation of character, 
he did not consider that to be necessarily the best 
system which secures the most minute and strict 
observance of college rules, or even of the exter- 
nal requisitions of morality ; but that which most 
effectually unfolds and exercises correct principles 
of action in the mind of the individual scholar. 
The virtue which is practised from a love of it, he 
said, and from the dictates of a growing moral 
principle, is of more value than that which pro- 
ceeds from a fear of college censures. The one 
affords permanent security for the future charac- 
ter of the individual ; the other may leave him 
exposed to temptation, which he has no means of 
resisting, the moment he ceases to feel his accus- 
tomed restraints. And the same principle he 
would apply to every department of intellectual 
cultivation. The mind, he said, whose powers, 
by whatever course of study, are thoroughly 
awakened and exercised in the proper manner, is 
prepared to act with promptitude in every emer- 
gency, and can readily acquire the particular 
11 



82 MEMOIR. 

knowledge necessary in the peculiar circumstances 
in which it may be placed. The scholar, for ex- 
ample, who has successfully cultivated his reason- 
ing powers, and accustomed himself to the inde- 
pendent exercise of his own judgment in the use 
of them, will be able to reason correctly, whether 
at the bar or in the senate ; but he who has mere- 
ly learned Euclid without studying for himself 
and putting in practice the principles of reasoning, 
may be lost the moment he traverses beyond the 
book, and in the practical duties of life, may show 
himself a dunce. To develope and cherish, then, 
those great principles which are to form the char- 
acter of the student in his intercourse with the 
world, to call into vigorous and habitual exercise 
those powers which are the elements of all intel- 
lectual power, and to do this by employing, as the 
means, departments of knowledge which will in 
themselves be of the greatest practical utility, he 
considered to be the true aim of education, which 
ought never to be lost sight of in a minute atten- 
tion to less important matters. 

Many evils, as he conceived, were connected 
with the mechanical system at present adopted in 
the classification of students ; and he thought it in 
the highest degree desirable to fix upon some 
method which should pay more respect to the real 
abilities and attainments of scholars, and which 
would allow them to pass from one division to 
another, according to the degree of proficiency or 
promise which they actually manifested. But he 
was fully aware of the practical difficulties which 






MEMOIR. 83 

must attend every plan of this sort which could be 
proposed ; and therefore never urged this point, 
except as one that he rather wished than ever ex- 
pected to see fully accomplished. In a word, he 
thought the whole collegiate system of study, as 
existing in this country, too much of a mechanical 
routine, wherein each individual who had taken 
the prescribed number of steps and gone through 
all the forms, might be sure of his degree in the 
arts at the end of the course ; it mattered little 
whether he had been idle or industrious. The 
mere formal examinations which were then deemed 
sufficient at many of the colleges, appeared to him 
to be, on the whole, rather worse than useless. 
Examinations rightly conducted, on the other 
hand, he considered of the utmost importance, 
both as furnishing a powerful incentive to study, 
and a very fair means of determining the real 
attainments and merit of the scholar. 

The improvements he proposed may be briefly 
summed up under the following heads : First, as 
to the rules for the admission of students, he would 
have them so modified as to extend the privileges of 
collegiate instruction, under certain regulations, to 
those whose necessities would limit them to a part 
only of the general course. Secondly, as to the 
system of discipline, he would have a mode of 
government more entirely parental, and more ex- 
clusively confined to the exertion of moral and 
social influence, and where this failed, would pre- 
fer simply to exclude the unworthy individual from 
the enjoyment of his privileges. Thirdly, as to the 



84 MEMOIR. 

method of instruction, he would have it uniformly 
directed in all its branches to the ultimate result 
of a full and manly developement of the individual, 
without thwarting or coercing the native tenden- 
cies of his mind. Fourthly, as to the system of 
classification or subdivision, he would have it such 
as at least to encourage those who showed them- 
selves able and disposed to do more than accom- 
plish the prescribed course, to pursue other addi- 
tional studies under the advice and direction of the 
faculty. Fifthly, he proposed to have all designa- 
tions of rank and of scholarship proceed on the 
absolute instead of the relative merit of the stu- 
dent, and to be determined on a close examination, 
by appropriate marks, to be recorded at the end 
of each year. 

These views and opinions, which I have taken 
partly from my own recollections and partly from 
the original paper submitted by Mr. Marsh to the 
corporation of the University, were after being 
fully discussed by the faculty and by that body, 
adopted as the ground-work of a change in the 
whole system of the institution, afterwards made 
known to the public in a pamphlet drawn up by di- 
rection of the faculty, and entitled "An Exposition 
of the Course of Instruction and Discipline in the 
University of Vermont." The pamphlet was sent 
to such as it w 7 as thought w 7 ould be likely to take 
an interest in the subject of which it treated. 
Several of the Presidents and Professors connected 
with other colleges in New 7 England, were pleased 
to express their approbation of the main features 



MEMOIR. 85 

in the plan, and thought there could be little doubt 
that the experiment would ultimately prove a suc- 
cessful one. As to its actual success, it may be 
remarked, that the system has thus far fulfilled 
every reasonable expectation of its friends: though 
it must be allowed that, owing to various circum- 
stances, it has been unavoidably subjected to some 
essential modifications. 

Having accomplished this object, in effecting 
which, I may observe, he had the cordial co-opera- 
tion of his fellow officers in the faculty, and having 
thus established his character as an enterprising 
and efficient President, Mr. Marsh now turned his 
attention to other matters, more immediately con- 
nected with his favorite pursuits. From the first, 
he had been accustomed to take an active part in 
the business of instruction. The department to 
which he chiefly confined himself in teaching, was 
intellectual and moral philosophy, the same which 
afterwards became his more exclusive field of 
labor. Philosophy was with him a far more com- 
prehensive, more deeply seated and vital interest, 
than many seem willing to regard it. It had occu-' 1 , 
pied his most earnest thoughts, ever since he could j 
call himself a student ; and on all the important 
questions and principles which it embraces, he had 
already attained to a clear knowledge, both of what 
the human mind had done, and what still remained 
to be accomplished. The problem which now in- 
terested him, and to which he chiefly directed his 
inquiries and meditations, was to fix definitely the 
true and only legitimate method of scientific in- 



86 MEMOIR. 

quiry ; such a method as would involve in its own 
very nature the necessity of progress, and which 
would vindicate the result to which it led, by being 
one and identical with the constitution of the hu- 
man intellect itself. To the want of this, he 
thought, might be attributed most of the errors and 
deficiences of the prevailing systems. He felt it 
to be the first duty which he owed to those whom 
he was to guide in the study of philosophy, to take 
care that they should receive no direction from 
him which he had not ascertained, to his own satis- 
faction, to be the way prescribed by reason and 
truth. But the clear and conscious knowledge of 
a truly philosophical method, not merely in its gen- 
eral outlines, but in all its wide details and appli- 
cations, as it is one of the most important, so it is 
one of the most difficult, and therefore slowest 
attainments of a meditative mind. It was not till 
after many years, that Mr. Marsh succeeded in so 
far realizing his object as to be quite satisfied — 
not with his leading principles, for these had long 
been well settled in his mind — but with the en- 
tire form of his system, as containing within itself 
the unity of an organic whole. 

Early in the year 1828, an event occurred in his 
family which diverted his attention entirely from 
these matters, and for many months engrossed all 
his feelings and thoughts. This was the sickness 
of his wife ; which, gradually assuming a more 
and more threatening character, at length took the 
form of a settled decline, and resulted in her death 
on the 18th of August, in the same year. Thus 



MEMOIR. 87 

were his hopes of happiness cut off, as he remarks 
in his journal, in the only place where he expected 
to find it — the domestic circle. They had been 
connected in marriage a little less than four years ; 
their hearts had been united for a much longer 
period. The pure and devoted attachment of Mr. 
Marsh to this excellent woman shone mildly forth 
in all their intercourse with each other, while to- 
gether, and remains embalmed, I may say, in an 
enduring form, for his friends, in the letters he 
wrote her from Andover and from the south ; 
letters in w T hich the warmth of true affection is ex- 
pressed with a noble simplicity, as it gushes uncon- 
sciously from the depth of christian principles. 
This was the first of his domestic calamities, and 
on this account, if no other, doubtless the most 
severe of all he was ever called to experience. 
But he was enabled to endure it with christian for- 
titude and resignation. 

As soon as he had recovered from the first shock 
of this heavy affliction, he returned to his studies, 
with a determination to turn them to some practi- 
cal account ; and the following year of his life was 
one of uncommon activity. During the next win- 
ter and the spring of 1829, he published, in the 
Vermont Chronicle, a series of papers, signed 
" Philopolis," on the subject of popular education. 
He also wrote, for the Christian Spectator, a long 
and elaborate review of Professor Stuart's Com- 
mentary on Hebrews. This article, which con- 
tains the germ of some of those thoughts the wri- 
ter afterwards more fully unfolded, is chiefly val- 



88 MEMOIR. 

liable on account of the clear and distinct manner 
in which he has defined the particular province 
and pointed out the true use of grammatical inter- 
pretation, as applied to the Scriptures. " The 
Jews," he says, " had no need of learned criticism 
and a large apparatus of antiquarian lore, to under- 
stand the words of our Saviour or of Paul. They 
required but the ordinary exercise of the under- 
standing; and if they did not discern the deep 
spiritual import of the words addressed to them, it 
was because they were earthly minded, and had 
not the Spirit. Now it is the precise and appro- 
priate aim of such criticism as that of Professor 
Stuart, to give us the same advantages which they 
enjoyed ; to place us in the same relative condition 
for apprehending spiritual truths, in which they 
were placed. It is to clear away the incidental 
obstacles to our right discernment, that the princi- 
ples and the apparatus of criticism are employed. 
The duty of the critical and grammatical inter- 
preter is, to show us precisely and definitely the 
notions which a w r riter's words must naturally have 
conveyed to the understanding of those to whom 
they were addressed. It is simply to accomplish 
this, that it becomes necessary to investigate the 
laws and usus loquendi of the language employed ; 
and so fully to occupy our minds with all that was 
peculiar and important in the habit and condition 
of the people addressed and of the writer, as to be 
able, as it were, to see with their eyes and hear 
with their ears. If the critic enables us to do this, 
or, having done it himself, gives us, with clearness 



MEMOIR. 89 

and fidelity, the result of his labors, it will then 
depend, as in the case of the Jews, upon the state 
of our own spiritual being, how far we shall ap- 
prehend the things of the Spirit." Speaking of 
the prejudice which existed against this sort of 
learning, since it had been abused in Germany to 
the purposes of infidelity, he goes on to remark 
that "we have more fear of injury to the cause of 
religion from the influence of superficial modes and 
systems of philosophizing, than from the principles 
of criticism. It is the surreptitious introduction 
of false philosophy alone, that gives any just 
ground to fear the results of interpretation ; and 
to this we are exposed far more in the application 
of criticism without principles, than of that which 
is guided by the laws of language and the princi- 
ples of right reason. It is, in short, the evil heart 
of unbelief, that we have reason to fear, as the 
perverter and misinterpreter of the truth. Free 
us from this, and we fear not the dangers of crit- 
ical inquiry. We are of the number of those who 
believe that, in the legitimate and conscientious 
employment of our understandings and rational 
powers, we are bound to follow truth with our 
whole hearts ; and that in so doing, even though 
we might not attain it, we could not be at war 
with it. If we thus study the word of God with 
an humble and believing spirit, the more largely 
and deeply we explore it, the richer will be our 
harvest of truth and righteousness. If, in follow- 
ing after, we still obey the truth, we can never be 
led astray. The law in the conscience bears wit- 
12 



90 MEMOIR. 

ness to the thunderings of Mount Sinai, as the 
voice of God. That which he has revealed in his 
word, can in no case be at variance with what he 
has written in our hearts. It may be at ivar with 
our passions and seifish purposes ; it may be above 
the comprehension of our understandings ; but it 
cannot contradict the unbribed and unequivocal 
voice of reason." 

Simple and true as all this may now seem, it 
was strange language for the time in which it was 
uttered ; and placed the right interpretation of 
Scripture on far different and higher grounds, than 
what had commonly been contended for. Instead 
of making it to rest, ultimately, on certain ingen- 
ious rules of human invention, as if the living 
truth of God's word could be determined and set- 
tled by such fallible means alone, he insisted upon 
the necessity, also, of a coincidence between what 
is in our own spirit, and what God has revealed in 
his word ; and maintained, that there is no light 
which can guide us to a right and full understand- 
ing of the Scriptures, except that which first shines 
in our own hearts. So, in another place, he says : 
" Wherever the subject treated is of a spiritual 
nature, we must have, in addition to all these out- 
ward helps, the exercise and developement of the 
corresponding spiritual acts and affections in our 
own consciousness. How is it possible, otherwise, 
for us to understand the words, or to refer them to 
the things designated ? We may have a notion of 
their effects and relations; but the words, in this 
case, mean more than these ; and more must be 



MEMOIR. 91 

known, before the meaning of the writer can be 
fully apprehended. We must sit at the feet of our 
divine Master, and learn of him, and obey his 
commands, before we can know of his doctrine, 
before we can fully understand or believe in the 
name of Jesus." In a word, the prevailing doc- 
trine of the day was, Understand, and then be- 
lieve ; while that which Mr. Marsh would set forth, 
not as any thing new, but as the old doctrine of 
the church from the earliest times, was, Believe, 
that ye may understand. Fides enim debet pree- 
cedere intellectum, ut sit intellectus fidei premium. 
" Such views," he adds, " may not, indeed, be 
learned from the superficial philosophy of the Pa- 
leian and Caledonian schools; but the higher and 
more spiritual philosophy of the great English di- 
vines of the seventeenth century abundantly teaches 
them, both by precept and by practice." For these 
old English divines, he entertained the highest re- 
gard and deepest veneration. He had already de- 
termined in his own mind, when he wrote the 
above, to publish a selection from their best pieces, 
with an introduction and occasional notes of illus- 
tration. Such a work, he hoped, might contribute 
somewhat to diffuse a better taste than seemed 
generally to prevail, with regard to religious books, 
and to direct the attention, especially of young 
men, to the almost forgotten "treasures of ancient 
wisdom." About this time, he received a copy of 
Coleridge's "Aids to Reflection ;" and was struck, 
not so much with the coincidence of that author's 
views with his own, as with the adaptedness of the 



92 MEMOIR. 

work to the very end which he had himself pro- 
posed. With Coleridge's other writings, he had, 
as I have before intimated, been long familiar, and 
esteemed him highly, both as a profound metaphy- 
sician and the highest English master for clearness 
and precision of philosophical language. It was 
with no small delight, he now saw the genius of 
that remarkable man employed to illustrate one of 
his own favorite authors ; and the opportunity 
which thus offered itself, of introducing both Leigh- 
ton and Coleridge to the American public, was 
one, he thought, which ought not to be neglected. 
Coleridge was known on this side the Atlantic, 
chiefly as a metaphysician and a poet. His " Lay 
Sermons" might have led a few curious readers to 
suspect that he sometimes ventured also on the 
discussion of theological questions ; but these pro- 
ductions were generally regarded, I imagine, as 
having more of a political than a religious bearing. 
The only work of his that had as yet been publish- 
ed, in this country, was his " Literary Life and 
Opinions ;" and from this work many gathered 
that the writer belonged to that eccentric class of 
transcendental philosophers, with the deep mystery 
of whose metaphysical doctrines no man of sense 
would think it worth his while to perplex himself. 
In short, " Coleridge's Metaphysics" had become 
a sort of bye-word for something pre-eminently 
obscure and unintelligible. To set up such a wri- 
ter as a guide to serious reflection, on the most 
important of all subjects, and to secure for him 
that respect and confidence, without which no 



MEMOIR. 93 

author can be read to any profitable purpose, 
might have been justly considered a presumptuous 
undertaking, had it been attempted by any man 
without that deep insight into the aim of the 
work, and that clear conviction of its power to 
work its own way into notice, if but once fairly 
brought before the public, which Mr. Marsh pos- 
sessed. As it was, we may well suppose, he had 
some misgivings of his own ; for besides the prej- 
udice mentioned above, there was another to be 
encountered, of still greater magnitude, in the ob- 
stinacy of long established opinions, of opinions 
" unassailable even by the remembrance of a 
doubt." Earnest reflection upon ourselves and 
the laws of our inward being, would lead us to 
feel, according to Mr. Coleridge, the utter incom- 
patibility of the system of philosophy commonly 
received, with the doctrines of a spiritual religion, 
and even with our own necessary convictions. We 
should see the necessity of taking other grounds, 
and of resorting to other distinctions than any to 
be found in the popular system of the day, in order 
satisfactorily to account for some of the most com- 
mon facts of our consciousness, as well as to recon- 
cile faith with reason, and thus justify the ways of 
God to man. The tendency of his work was, 
therefore, to undermine the only foundation which 
many a favorite theory had to build upon, in re- 
cent days, both in metaphysics and theology. 
There was some hazard in attempting to push into 
public notice, a work which so boldly attacked the 
system which, as to its leading principles, was 



94 MEMOIR. 

adopted in this country by a sort of tacit consent, 
as the only true philosophy of the human mind. 
Mr. Marsh felt this to be so. " In the minds of 
our religious community especially," he says, 
" some of its important doctrines have become 
associated with names justly loved and revered 
among ourselves, and so connected with all our 
theological views of religion, that one can hardly 
hope to question their validity without hazarding 
his reputation, not only for orthodoxy, but even 
for common sense. To controvert, for example, 
the prevailing doctrine with regard to the freedom 
of the will, the sources of our knowledge, the na- 
ture of the understanding as containing the con- 
trolling principles of our whole being, and the uni- 
versality of the law of cause and effect, even in 
connection with the arguments and the authority 
of the most powerful intellect of the age, may 
even now be worse than in vain." 

But besides his own conviction of the goodness 
of his cause, there was one other consideration 
which encouraged him to proceed with his under- 
taking : " I have reasons for believing," he says, 
" there are some among us, and that their number 
is fast increasing, who are willing to revise their 
opinions on these subjects, and who will contem- 
plate the views presented in this work, with a lib- 
eral and something of a prepared feeling of curios- 
ity. The difficulties in which men find them- 
selves involved by the received doctrines on these 
subjects, in their most anxious efforts to explain 
and defend the doctrines of spiritual religion, have 



MEMOIR. 95 

led many to suspect that there must be some lurk- 
ing error in the premises. It is not that these 
principles lead us to mysteries which we cannot 
comprehend ; they are found, or believed at least 
by many, to involve us in absurdities which we 
can comprehend. 

In regard to the number of this class who were 
dissatisfied with the prevailing theories, and who 
were prepared to listen, with somewhat more than 
a feeling of curiosity, to views professedly drawn 
from a deeper insight into human nature, Mr. 
Marsh had not deceived himself. It might be said 
to comprise every earnest and reflecting mind not 
already committed to some system. The time, 
indeed, was quite ready for the appearance of such 
a work ; it was only necessary to secure for it a 
favorable impression, and to fix the attention of 
thinking men upon the real points of interest, the 
important doctrines and distinctions it aimed to 
set forth. 

These were the objects which Mr. Marsh had 
in view in writing his " Preliminary Essay," — a 
befitting introduction to the noble work which it 
recommends, designed more especially, in the first 
instance, for the purpose of making an application 
of the doctrines therein contained, " to opinions 
and discussions (then) prevailing among our- 
selves," but conceived in so large a spirit, and 
with such a grasp of the whole field of inquiry, 
embracing as it does questions of the deepest and 
most enduring interest, as might well challenge 
for it the attention of this or any other age. 



96 MEMOIR. 

I shall here quote a considerably long passage 
from this valuable performance, as serving to show 
better than any thing that could be said, the 
thoughtful and considerate manner in which he 
went about his undertaking, and the mingled hopes 
and fears with which he looked forward to its 
result. " In republishing the work in this coun- 
try," he says, " I could wish that it might be re- 
ceived by all for whose instruction it was designed, 
simply as a didactic work, on its own merits and 
without controversy. I must not, however, be 
supposed ignorant of its bearing upon those ques- 
tions which have so often been, and still are, the 
prevailing topics of theological controversy among 
us. It was indeed incumbent on me, before in- 
viting the attention of the religious community 
to the work, to consider its relation to existing 
opinions, and its probable influence on the progress 
of truth. This I have done with as severe thought 
as I am capable of bestowing on any subject, and 
I trust, too, with no want of deference and con- 
scientious regard to the feelings and opinions of 
others. I have not attempted to disguise from 
myself, nor do I wish to disguise from the readers 
of the work, the inconsistency of some of its lead- 
ing principles with much that is taught and re- 
ceived in our theological circles. Should it gain 
much of the public attention in any way, it will 
become, as it ought to do, an object of special and 
deep interest to all who would contend for the 
truth and labor to establish it upon a permanent 
basis. I venture to assure such, even those of 



MEMOIR. 97 

them who are most capable of comprehending the 
philosophical grounds of truth in our speculative 
systems of theology, that, in its relation to this 
whole subject, they will find it to be a work of 
great depth and power, and, whether right or 
wrong, eminently deserving of their attention. It 
is not to be supposed that all who read, or even 
all who comprehend it, will be convinced of the 
soundness of its views, or be prepared to abandon 
those which they have long considered essential 
to the truth. To those whose understandings by 
long habit have become limited in their powers of 
apprehension, and, as it were, identified with cer- 
tain schemes of doctrine, certain modes of contem- 
plating all that pertains to religious truth, it may 
appear novel, strange, and unintelligible, or even 
dangerous in its tendency, and be to them an oc- 
casion of offence. But I have no fear that any ear- 
nest or single-hearted lover of the truth as it is in 
Jesus, who will free his mind from the idols of 
preconceived opinion, and give himself time and 
opportunity to understand the work by such reflec- 
tion as the nature of the subject renders unavoid- 
able, will find in it any cause of offence or any 
source of alarm. U the work become the occasion 
of controversy at all, I should expect it from those 
who, instead of reflecting deeply upon the first 
principles of truth in their own reason and con- 
science, and in the word of God, are more accus- 
tomed to speculate — that is, from premises given 
or assumed, but considered unquestionable, as the 
constituted point of observation, to look abroad 
13 



98 MEMOIR. 

upon the whole field of their intellectual visions, 
and thence to decide upon the true form and di- 
mensions of all which meets their view. To such 
I would say, with deference, that the merits of 
this work cannot be determined by the merely 
relative aspect of its doctrines, as seen from the 
high ground of any prevailing metaphysical or the- 
ological system. Those, on the contrary, who 
will seek to comprehend it by reflection, to learn 
the true meaning of the whole and of all its parts, 
by retiring into their own minds, and finding there 
the true point of observation for each, will not be 
in haste to question the truth or the tendency of 
its principles. I make these remarks because I 
am anxious, as far as may be, to anticipate the 
causeless fears of all who earnestly pray and labor 
for the promotion of the truth, and to preclude 
that unprofitable controversj' that might arise from 
hasty or prejudiced views of a work like this. At 
the same time I should be far from deprecating 
any discussion which might tend to unfold more 
fully the principles which it teaches, or to exhibit 
more distinctly its true bearing upon the interests 
of theological science and of spiritual religion. It 
is to promote this object, indeed, that I am in- 
duced, in the remarks which follow, to offer some 
of my own thoughts on these subjects, imperfect I 
am well aware, and such as, for that reason as 
well as others, worldly prudence might require 
me to suppress. If, however, I may induce re- 
flecting men, and those who are engaged in the- 
ological inquiries especially, to indulge a suspicion 






MEMOIR. 99 

that all truth which it is important for them to 
know is not contained in the systems of doctrine 
usually taught, and that this work may be worthy 
of their serious and reflecting perusal, my chief 
ohject will be accomplished." From some partic- 
ular expressions, as well as from the general tenor 
of these remarks, it would seem as if the writer 
supposed that the publication might possibly be 
an occasion of engaging him in controversy. 
Though he deprecated this, he did not dread it. 
Had he been called forth by a worthy antago- 
nist in defence of his author's views, on any im- 
portant topic, he would doubtless have obeyed the 
summons, and we might have seen, under the ex- 
citement of dispute, a still more masterly expo- 
sition than any he has given, of what he considered 
the only true spiritual philosophy. 

The able manner in which he acquitted himself, 
in this case, of his undertaking, established his 
reputation as a good scholar and profound meta- 
physician, both at home and abroad. But what 
was of more consequence in his own view, since 
he had been induced to engage in the enterprize 
out of no regard to himself, but from the simple 
love of truth and the strong interest he felt in 
the spread of sounder principles of philosophy, 
was to see the work producing its silent but sure 
effect. Though no notice was taken of it, so far 
as I remember, in the more important periodical 
journals, it met with a rapid sale, and found read- 
ers among all classes and sects. If all did not 
approve the doctrines it taught, few could deny 



100 MEMOIR. 

the great moral and intellectual power which it 
every where exhibited. There were some pro- 
fessed scholars, indeed, men of elegant taste and 
clear understandings, rather than of deep and ear- 
nest thought, who affected a sort of contempt for 
such obscure speculations, which they looked upon 
as useless, if not wholly unintelligible. Others 
there were who seriously doubted whether the 
introduction into practical religion of habits of 
thinking so metaphysical and abstract, could well 
consist with fervent piety and a zeal to do good ; 
while a few believed that some of the doctrines 
advanced were erroneous in themselves and dan- 
gerous in their tendency. But far greater was the 
number of those who thought that by this timely 
publication, good service had been done to the 
cause of religion and of true philosophy ; and 
many were the letters of congratulation and of 
inquiry which Mr. Marsh received on this occasion 
from various parts of the land. In a word, the 
interest excited by the work went quite beyond 
the modest expectations of its editor, and he flat- 
tered himself that the good effected by it would 
be not less extensive.* 

* Soon after the publication of the Aids to Reflection, Mr. 
Marsh received the degree of Doctor of Divinity from Columbia 
College in the city of New York. In 1833, the same honor was 
conferred on him by Amherst College in Massachusetts. Partly 
for confirmation of what I have said above, and partly for the sake 
of the valuable remarks they contain, which I should be sorry to 
have lost, I have introduced into this note a few extracts from va- 
rious letters, received by Mr. Marsh on this occasion. The excel- 
lent writers, whose names I withhold, will pardon the freedom I 
take, in consideration of my motives. 1. "I thank you very sin- 



MEMOIR. 101 

Mr. Marsh sent his edition of the " Aids " to 
Coleridge, accompanied with a letter, which I shall 

cerely for your kindness in sending me a copy of ' Aids to Reflec- 
tion.' I have delayed writing, till I should have read the book. 
And it is, I must say, with no ordinary interest I have read it. In 
the first place, the author, or as he oddly enough calls himself, the 
editor, exhibits everywhere a mind of mighty grasp. The concep- 
tions and reasonings of such a mind, cannot but make a strong im- 
pression. Though occasionally eccentric, I cannot look at them 
without pleasure, nor seriously attend to them without profit. 
I love once in a while to be roused by something new. Sec- 
ondly, the author's taste is congenial with mine, as to the old 
English writers. Leighton has for many years been as favor- 
ite an author with me as with Coleridge. The same of the other 
English books he refers to, so far as I have read them. And I 
wish most heartily, that our young men, especially young minis- 
ters, might form their taste and their habits of thinking on the 
model of the old authors, rather than those of a modern date. I 
could name some ten or a dozen old writers that I would not give 
up, for all that have lived the last two or three generations. Third- 
ly, Coleridge goes much farther than I expected he would, in 
maintaining what I consider fundamental principles, as to the 
christian religion. Most of his practical views — I mean his views 
of the nature of Christian piety and of the Christian life, seem to 
me scriptural and excellent ; and I have fewer objections to make 
to his doctrinal opinions, than I supposed I should have when I 
read your preface. And this fact leads me to think, either that 
you have somehow misapprehended the prevailing sentiment of 
the orthodox in New England, or else that I differ from them more 
than I am aware. As to many things which Coleridge asserts on 
the philosophy of religion, (if I am so happy as to understand him) 
I hold the same ; though it would seem that both you and he re- 
gard those things as at war with what Calvinists believe. But in 
some of these cases, he appears to me to have adopted a mode of 
thinking and writing, which makes plain things obscure, and easy 
things difficult. I am able, if I mistake not, to take some doc- 
trines, which he holds forth, or rather covers up, with hard, ab- 
struse and almost unintelligible phraseology, and to express them 
in language which shall carry them to the mind of every enlight- 
ened Christian and philosopher with perfect clearness. Now I ac- 
knowledge it is a good thing to make men think, yea, and to compel 



102 MEMOIR. 

F insert in the Appendix. To this letter he never 
received any answer ; but the state of the author's 

them to it, if that is necessary. But it would be a serious question, 
whether this can be most effectually done by investing moral and 
philosophical subjects in obscurity, — or by covering them with 
light. For myself, I wish as little of abstruseness and unintelligi- 
bleness in books as may be. I am conscious of too much of this 
in regard to many, if not most subjects, as they lie in my own 
mind ; and I am always glad to find myself relieved by luminous 
thoughts and luminous language in others." — 2. " Your remarks 
in the Introduction to Aids to Reflection, are deemed by some 
rather heretical, and they even have been quoted, on the other side, 
as proofs, that there is a declension from the stiffness of former 
days. But on one great point, that of human power, — so essen- 
tially connected with the sense of accountableness, — I have, for 
some years, been inclined to adopt what I suppose are also your 
own views, — and have occasionally given such instruction to the 
senior class ; that is, have stated, that motives are not efficient 
causes ; and therefore a volition is not accounted for by ascribing 
it to motives ; — a determiner must be found ; and that determiner, 
unless some other spirit, is our own spirit. Our own mind is the 
originator, the cause. Here is power • and we could have no idea 
of power in God, unless we first found it in ourselves. The denial 
of this, makes God the universal agent — and comes to Spinozism 
in fact — destroying the sense of responsibleness." — 3. " As Co- 
lumbia College has at the late commencement added your name 
to its list of honorary graduates, you may perhaps read with some 
interest the discourse which you will receive with this letter. 
Permit me, at the same time that I request your acceptance of the 
pamphlet, to express to you the very great gratification which I 
have received from your preface and notes to your reprint of Cole- 
ridge. He is an author to whom I owe much in the formation of 
my opinions, and whom I have always regarded with a sort of 
affection. You have double claim upon the thanks of the Ameri- 
can public, as well 'for making known to them so excellent a 
work, as for adding to its value and utility by your own exposition 
of his object and meaning." — 4. "Will you pardon the liberty, 
which, though a stranger, I take in asking of you the favor of a 
letter to Mr. Coleridge in England. The Aids to Reflection, which 
you have been the means of bringing before the American pub- 
lic, have excited in me a strong desire to see their author. The 



MEMOIR. 103 

health, taken in connection with his well-known 
carelessness about his own productions, sufficiently 
accounted, perhaps, for this seeming neglect. It 
is the concurrent testimony of all the Americans 
who subsequently visited Coleridge, and of whom 
I have had an opportunity to inquire, that he never 
expressed himself otherwise than as gratified with 
what had been done for the spread of his writings 
on this side the Atlantic. From the most intimate 
friends of that excellent man, from Mr. Henry 
Nelson Coleridge, Mr. Gillman and Dr. Green, 
Mr. Marsh received many letters, expressing how 
highly his labors were appreciated ; and, as farther 
proof of this, his essay was prefixed, by Cole- 
ridge's nephew and executor, to the last London 
edition of the Aids, in 1839. I have thought it 
right, for reasons which it is not necessary now to 
state, to introduce several of these letters in the 
Appendix to this Memoir. 

The first American edition of the Aids to Re- 
flection was published in Novemher r 1829 ; and 
was followed, in Maj^JSSO, by the first volume of 
" Selections from the old English writers on Prac- 
tical Theology ;" a work which did not meet with 

views which he presents, and which are so happily sustained in 
your introduction, are views, many of which I have held some 
years; and I cannot but hope that their promulgation, under such 
auspices, is destined, in this country at least, to effect a new era 
in Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy." — To these extracts from 
letters of emin^nXjaien, in church and state, many others might be 
added of the like kind and import ; but these are enough to show 
the impression which was produced by the work through which 
the subject of this memoir first became generally known to the 
public as an author. 



104 MEMOIR. 

sufficient success to encourage the editor to pro- 
ceed with the undertaking. After all that has 
been said in praise of the solid and sterling quali- 
ties peculiar to the eminent divines of those ear- 
lier times, every attempt, I believe, to give them 
general currency, at least in this country, has 
proved rather a failure. The craving of the pres- 
ent age seems to be after aliment of a different 
sort, lighter and more easily digestible; but whether 
better adapted to promote the growth and devel- 
opement of a truly spiritual life, each must judge 
for himself from his own experience. The tracts 
published by Mr. Marsh were, Howe's " Blessed- 
ness of the Righteous," and Bates' " Four Last 
Things." He thought of the former, that " for 
depth of insight, combined with practical efficiency 
in its appeals to the heart, it was at least one of 
the best things in the language." But there were 
now other matters which claimed and engrossed 
his whole attention. 

He had, by this time, succeeded in furnishing 
himself with most of the helps which he thought 
it necessary to have around him, in order to the 
successful prosecution of his philosophical studies. 
He had also formed a new marriage connexion, 
with the sister of his former wife ; and the breach 
in his domestic circle being thus happily repaired, 
he would have felt himself more at liberty, than at 
any previous time, for his favorite pursuits, had it 
not been for the discouraging condition of things 
in the college whose interests were confided to his 
care. It was a remark he dropped in one of 



MEMOIR. 105 

his letters to a friend, and I have heard him re- 
peat the same myself, that " during the great part 
of his life, he had found himself chained in situa- 
tions where he felt paralyzed in the exertion of his 
powers, and vainly longed for freedom." This 
casual expression gave utterance to a feeling, which 
those who knew him and his circumstances will 
best know how to appreciate. Nothing could be 
more foreign from the native gentleness of his 
spirit, as well as from the christian principles by 
which he habitually governed himself, than the in- 
dulgence of any thing like a fretful, impatient 
temper. He meant simply to state what was in- 
deed most true, in regard to his experience of life, 
that outward circumstances were generally against 
him ; and the aspirations of his mind, instead of 
being quickened and encouraged by what did not 
depend on himself, met with constant checks and 
occasions of diversion. He was sensible of a cer- 
tain incongruity between the situation in which he 
was placed and the kind of duties to which he was 
called, and the decided inclination and bent of his 
intellectual energies. Hence he accounted for it, 
that so little had been done by him, compared with 
what he might have, accomplished, in a situation 
more favorable for the realizing of his own plans 
and wishes. 

There was no time, perhaps, when he had a 
more painful sense of this, than at the present 
juncture of affairs in the University. When he 
took the presidential chair, it was with no expec- 
tation of being called upon to perform any thing 
14 



106 MEMOIR. 

beyond the common duties of the station. For 
these, he felt himself competent ; and so indeed 
he was. In the business of instruction, no man 
could excel him ; and the deep paternal interest 
which he felt for the right developement of the 
young minds that came under his care, gave an 
influence to his advice, and an authority to his 
government, most salutary and effectual. For the 
details of business, for financial concerns, and 
whatever else belongs to the outward relations of 
a college, he did not think, himself, that he was so 
well fitted. These were matters with which he 
always chose to have as little to do as possible. 

But a crisis had now arrived in the affairs of the 
University, which seemed to call for this sort of 
activity in its presiding officer, more than for any 
other. The revolution which had been effected 
in the system of studies and of discipline, while it 
added to the respectability of the institution 
abroad, left it to struggle, with narrow means, un- 
der the many disadvantages of a new experiment. 
The number of students, instead of being increased 
by the change which opened the doors to a class 
of young men never before permitted to share in 
the advantages of collegiate instruction, on the 
whole, rather diminished. Every thing had been 
done that could be, to place the institution on the 
best footing, as to its internal concerns and ar- 
rangements ; nothing remained but to satisfy the 
public, on which it depended for its support, that 
the advantages secured and offered were worth en- 
joying. Dr. Marsh was clearly convinced of the 



MEMOIR. 107 

necessity of this course ; he saw no other way left, 
of bringing the system, upon which so much labor 
had been bestowed, to the test of a fair experiment, 
and thus securing the prosperity of the institution 
whose interests he had identified with his own. 
But without disparagement of his character, whose 
excellence lay in quite another direction it may be 
said that neither he nor his friends had any confi- 
dence in his qualifications for a business of this 
sort. His friends doubted whether their president 
could enter with any comfort to himself, or any 
reasonable prospect of success, on the formidable 
undertaking which the present emergency seemed 
to require. These doubts were not held back, 
and they were responded to with equal frankness 
and good feeling on the part of the president. It 
was a matter, he said, which had long lain with 
weight on his own mind, whether he was in the 
situation best suited to the habits of his mind, or 
for the realization of those objects w 7 hich he had 
most at heart. He had little doubt that he might 
employ his energies with greater satisfaction to 
himself and usefulness to the world, in a sphere 
that would allow more opportunity and scope for 
the free action of his mind in its own chosen direc- 
tion. The details of business were occupying all 
his time, and unfitting him for those higher pur- 
suits, which, if he might judge by his own experi- 
ence and feelings, constituted the true business of 
his life. The duties of the presidency had become 
irksome to him, and he was anxious to be relieved 
from its burthensome honors. As an effort was 



108 MEMOIR. 

about to be made for the pecuniary relief of the 
college, he wished to take that opportunity of 
leaving his place, with a view either to assume the 
duties of a professor, or to retire from public life 
altogether. 

To the latter of these propositions, no friend of 
his or of the institution, which was so indebted to 
him for its substantial worth and character, could 
listen for a moment. At the same time, it could 
hardly be expected of him to take a step perhaps 
without a precedent, and seemingly risk his char- 
acter for firmness and self-respect, by voluntarily 
assuming a lower station in the institution over 
which he had once presided. Of any ordinary 
man this could not be expected. But Dr. Marsh 
was exempt from that vulgar pride which is always 
ready to sacrifice to a miserable self-esteem the 
sense of duty and the highest apparent good. 
With a true greatness of soul, which few men ever 
possessed or exhibited in an equal degree, in re- 
linquishing his place as president, he determined 
to comply with the earnest wishes of his friends, 
and still retain his connexion with the university. 
Had he done the former without the latter, it 
would have been looked upon as a very ordinary 
transaction. But by simply changing his relations, 
while he showed a noble disregard to himself, he 
consulted the best interests of the institution, which 
was looking to his decision. Let it not be under- 
stood by any thing here said, that Dr. Marsh was 
not considered by those who best knew him an 
excellent president. On the contrary, he was 



MEMOIR. 109 

eminently qualified for his station in every most 
important respect. It was a peculiar crisis in the 
affairs of the college, which alone, in his own view 
and that of others, justified the change and led 
him to take a step that created at first, as was to 
be expected, some surprise and wonder ; but as 
soon as the whole truth was known, gained for 
him on all sides that heartfelt respect and esteem, 
which in the end are sure to be awarded to a great 
action. 

This event of his life I find recorded in his 
diary, with a few remarks, expressed with charac- 
teristic modesty : " During the year 1833 a change 
took place in my public relations, which must not 
be wholly unnoticed in this faithful, though so 
often interrupted journal. I had never considered 
myself so well qualified for the office which I had 
previously held, as for some other station ; and this 
feeling was expressed in this journal at the time 
of my entering upon its duties. It brought me in 
contact with the world more than suited my taste, 
and required a kind of action for which, indeed, I 
was unqualified, and for which it was fighting 
against nature to qualify myself. The institution 
was undoubtedly, as things were, suffering at the 
time from the want of more active exertion to 
avail ourselves of the position which we had gained 
in the confidence of the public in respect to our 
course of instruction and internal management. 
As the best method, therefore, of meeting all the 
wants of the institution, I withdrew from the pres- 
idency and took the chair of Moral and Intellectual 



110 MEMOIR. 

Philosophy, using my influence to bring in Mr. 
Wheeler in the place which I had before occu- 
pied." 

In the course of the same year, 1833, he found 
time to complete and publish in two volumes 
12mo. the work of Herder on the u Spirit of He- 
brew Poetry." The first dialogues were transla- 
ted while he was at Hampden Sidney, and given 
to the public, as I have already mentioned, in the 
Christian Repository. This work of Herder's, 
although considered one of his best performances, 
and ranking as a classical and standard production 
among his countrymen, has never attained, I be- 
lieve, to any great degree of popularity among our- 
selves. It contains many bold opinions, and novel 
interpretations of scripture, quite at variance with 
the more sober views, and as I think, more correct 
taste, that prevails in our own religious community. 
Dr. Marsh was disposed, at first, to qualify some 
of the more objectionable passages, by means of 
accompanying notes, but he soon gave up that 
plan. "My belief is," he says, " that such is the 
character and spirit of the work, taken as a whole, 
as to give it an influence highly beneficial to the 
cause of truth and of sound Biblical learning among 
us, if only it be read in the spirit that dictated it, 
and to correct in the general result, whatever in- 
dividual errors of opinion it may contain." So he 
left it to stand or fall on its own merits. 

The important change in his public relations, 
which freed him from those responsibilities and 
disturbing cares of business, he had found to be so 



MEMOIR. Ill 

incompatible with a continuous and proper devo- 
tion of his mind to the subjects which chiefly in- 
terested him, was not followed immediately by the 
result which he and his friends had anticipated. 
He found himself assailed by doubts, which he 
could not at once entirely overcome, whether the 
step he had taken would be rightly interpreted by 
all ; whether he had paid sufficient respect to the 
feelings and interests of his family ; whether, after 
all, he could properly remain with an institution 
whose prosperity might seem to some to be con- 
nected with the fact of his leaving the presidency ; 
and by other scruples of the like nature. These 
preyed upon his mind for a time, and unfitted him 
even for his favorite studies. In itself, the change 
was most desirable to him ; he felt it a relief to be 
quit of those tiresome honors, which he had not 
coveted before they were conferred, nor for their 
own sake cared for afterwards. But he felt that 
his character was of some consequence ; and had 
a dread of being thought weak, in doing what no 
weak man, no man without a moral courage like 
his own, would ever have ventured to do. But 
these feelings gradually wore away ; and vanished 
entirely, when it became evident that his motives 
were every where rightly appreciated, and that 
none were disposed to view his conduct in any 
other light than one which reflected honor on him- 
self, and confirmed the propriety of his decision in 
so important a matter. The four or five succeed- 
ing years were devoted by him, almost without 
interruption, to a course of laborious study, in 



& 



112 MEMOIR. 

which, as he says in his journal, it was his grand 
object to prepare himself, by reading and reflec- 
tion, for taking a comprehensive view of all the 
parts of knowledge, as constituting a connected 
and organic whole, and to understand the relations 
and relative importance of the several parts. "This 
systematic view," he observes, " being once clear- 
ly attained, I cannot but think, it will be compar- 
atively easy to write instructively, and to develope 
the truth, in various departments of learning, with 
reference to fixed principles." 

He has here expressed what were indeed the 
leading aims of his whole life — scire ut sedificat, 
scire ut sedificetur — but aims to which the short 
remainder of it was devoted, with a more exclu- 
sive and continuous attention. This would be a 
proper place to exhibit to my readers some account 
of the method which he pursued in his inquiries, as 
well as of the system of philosophy out of which 
it grew, or in which it resulted ; but the contract- 
ed limits of my plan will not allow me to enter in- 
to any copious detail. From his familiarity with 
the writings of Coleridge, and the high respect 
which he ever felt and expressed for Coleridge's 
authority in matters of this sort, it has been hastily 
inferred that he was no more than a disciple of 
that great master. It would be a mistake, how- 
ever, to suppose that the opinions of Dr. Marsh 
were taken up immediately from any particular 
author or school. Submission to the authority of 
great names was something wholly alien from the 
character of his mind : although no man was more 



MEMOIR. 113 

modest in the estimation of his own powers, or 
more ready to confess his obligations, in all cases 
where he had been benefitted by others. It may 
be said of him with greater justice than of many 
who have laid far higher claims to originality, that 
his system was the result of his own profound 
meditation, and one to which he was irresistibly 
led, in endeavoring to construct for himself a con- 
sistent and connected whole, out of the materials 
of his knowledge. He acted upon his own maxim, 
laid down at the beginning of the " Preliminary 
Essay," that " it is by self-inspection only, we can 
discover the principle of unity and consistency, 
which reason instinctively seeks after, which shall 
reduce to a harmonious system all our views of 
truth and being, and destitute of which, all the 
knowledge that comes to us from without, is frag- 
mentary, and in its relation to our highest inter- 
ests as rational beings, the patch-work of vanity. 

In seeking for this principle of unity within him- 
self, he became early convinced, even from the 
first, that the ultimate views of truth and grounds 
of conviction could be placed no where within the 
domain of sense or of the speculative understand- 
ing. The distinct and appropriate offices of these 
powers, the one to present the mere elements of 
knowledge, the other to limit and define, to gen- 
eralize and arrange, precluded, in his view, the 
possibility of arriving by their means at the ulti- 
mate ground of all knowledge and reality. The 
senses furnish us with nothing but the phenomenal 
aspects of being, in their inconstant, fluctuating 
15 



114 MEMOIR. 

and endless variety. The human understanding, 
an important instrument, but not a source of 
knowledge, can do no more than to analyze and 
combine, under the form of conceptions, what has 
thus been presented ; and the highest unity it can 
arrive at by this process, is but a generalization of 
particulars, an abstraction, which may again be 
analyzed and recombined without end. Giving 
up the search for a principle of unity in this direc- 
tion, he found himself forbidden again, in the 
depth of his moral convictions, to rest in the con- 
clusions of the mere speculative reason. The 
unity thus arrived at, or rather assumed in the first 
place, as a necessary hypothesis to a consistent 
scientific whole of knowledge, betrayed its radical 
defect, by confounding the Creator with his crea- 
tures ; and thus conflicting with the demands of 
our moral being. It might please the mere man 
of intellect, led on by no other interest than an 
aimless thirst for knowledge, but must ever fail to 
satisfy the still deeper wants of the spirit, when 
but once fully awakened to a sense of what it 
needs. Both as a philosopher and as a christian, 
Dr. Marsh felt that the ultimate ground of truth 
must also be a living ground. The soul, as a liv- 
ing and life-giving principle, could not be satisfied 
with abstractions, nor its hollow cravings be stilled 
w r ith unsubstantial shadows and barren formulas. 

The great question with him was not alone 
what is truth ? but, what is that which imparts to 
truth its living reality ; which connects knowing 
with being ; and in the clear perception and con- 



MEMOIR. 115 

templation of which, the whole aggregate of our 
knowledge begins to reduce itself to the form, not 
merely of a systematic, but of an organic unity ? 
He would find this no where but in the mysterious 
union of the contemplative and the moral, of free- 
dom and necessity, in the self-consciousness of 
the spirit ; in that act of freedom by which the 
spirit affirms the reality of its own being, and 
in this sees the ground of its knowledge of all 
else that is real. The will, the moral part of 
our being, is here placed in supremacy, the prac- 
tical raised in honor above the merely contem- 
plative ; but at the same time, both are in one, in 
the being of the spirit itself. 

It would be wholly foreign from my object, even 
if it were in my power, to go at large into all the 
explanations which might be deemed necessary for 
the elucidation of this point, so fundamental in 
that system of philosophy, which, for the sake of 
distinction, has sometimes been called the spirit- 
ual, and which Dr. Marsh not merely advocated, 
but, so to speak, identified with all his habits of 
mind. I will observe, however, that, according to 
this view, no living and actual knowledge can be 
arrived at simply by speculation. The man must 
become what he knows ; he must make his knowl- 
edge one with his own being ; and in his power to 
do this, joined with the infinite capacity of his 
spirit, lies the possibility of his endless progress. 

This was the kind of progress which Dr. Marsh 
consciously aimed at, in all his studies ; and hence 
the wide scope and liberality of his method. Hence 



116 MEMOIR. 

the fearlessness with which he pushed on his in- 
quiries far beyond the limits of ordinary specula- 
tion, safe in his fundamental position, that nothing 
could be true for him which was contradicted by 
" the interests and necessities of his moral bein£." 
Hence the discriminating judgment which he al- 
ways evinced in his choice of books and of authors ; 
the course of his reading being invariably directed 
with a view to the great end which he never lost 
sight of, the developement of his own spiritual 
being. With respect to the fortunes and fates of 
different philosophical sects, he had but little curi- 
osity. I doubt if he ever read a single author, 
merely for the purpose of gratifying an idle wish 
to know what opinions he entertained, and what 
influence he exerted on his particular age. The 
only interest which he felt was for the truth, ever 
one and the same, under all its different manifesta- 
tions ; and when he had found an author who 
showed marks of deep and earnest thought, he 
used him, not as a transient companion, but as a 
bosom friend, to consult and hold communion with 
on all fit and necessary occasions. Few persons, 
I apprehend, ever studied the two master spirits of 
the Grecian philosophy with a deeper insight into 
their meaning, or a keener perception and relish of 
their respective excellencies. Plato was his favor- 
ite author, whom he always kept near him. With 
some of the works of Aristotle, particularly his 
Treatise on the Soul, and his Metaphysics, he was 
scarcely less familiar. Of the old English writers 



MEMOIR. 117 

on philosophical subjects, I need not say that his 
knowledge was most intimate and thorough. 

But his reading and reflection were by no means 
confined to matters strictly philosophical. He 
took a deep and lively interest in the discoveries 
of modern science, particularly in all those which 
have contributed to throw more light on the great 
processes and agencies of nature, through the 
whole of her vast domain. In all these discover- 
ies, truly deserving to be called such, he saw the 
tendency of science to dismiss the material con- 
ceptions hitherto so prevalent, and to become more 
dynamic. The contemplation of nature, as pre- 
senting an ascending series of distinguishable pow- 
ers, acting by laws correlative to ideas contained 
potentially in our own minds, and thus serving to 
reveal what is within us to ourselves, was one on 
which he delighted to dwell, as leading to the 
most intelligible view " of the relation of our 
finite spirits to nature on the one hand, and to the 
spirit, as their own proper element, on the other." 
He has given us some of his views on this subject 
in the letter on the Will, which I have inserted in 
the present volume. 

The zeal with which he labored, however, in 
the true vocation of the scholar, striving continu- 
ally to turn his knowledge to account as a means 
of self-developement, did not lead him to forget or 
to overlook the duty which required him to em- 
ploy his powers also for the benefit of others. He 
had a strong desire to be useful, and studied dili- 
gently to know how he might use his talents and 



118 MEMOIR. 

acquisitions so as best to subserve, in his own 
proper sphere, the glory of God and the good of 
mankind. Several works, of more or less import- 
ance, were projected bj him in the course of his 
public life, and some of them partially executed. 
Two of these deserve to be mentioned, since he 
had bestowed on them considerable thought, and 
never wholly given up the purpose, which in re- 
gard to one of them was publicly announced, of 
sending them before the world. The first was a 
system of logic, the plan of which he drew up as 
early as 1832, or earlier. It was to follow, in its 
general divisions and arrangement of matter, the 
German work of Eries on the same subject.* The 
"novelties in terminology necessary to a thor- 
oughly scientific system" seems, from one of his 
letters, to have been what chiefly delayed him in 
the execution of this work. He was waiting, 
moreover, in hopes of deriving some assistance in 
respect to language from Coleridge's promised 
"Elements of Discourse." Dr. Marsh has left 
nothing in manuscript on this subject except a 
free translation of Fries' work, which he seems to 
have made a sort of preparatory exercise to his 
own. The other work which he had in contem- 
plation, but never found time to execute, was a 
treatise on Psychology. The few chapters on this 
subject, contained in the present volume, were 
written without any view to publication, for the 
use of the classes which he instructed in that de- 
partment of science. 

* See Dr. Follen's Letter in the Appendix. 



MEMOIR. 119 

To these labors he was prompted simply by the 
interest he took in the cause of education, and by 
his desire to supply, so far as lay in his power, a 
defect which he conceived to exist in the common 
text-books, relating to those important parts of 
intellectual discipline. The same wish to be useful 
wherever he could, led him sometimes to engage in 
still humbler services in literature, and he thought 
himself not unworthily employed in translating 
and preparing for the press the little German work 
of Hedgewisch on the elements of chronology. 
But these matters, however important in their 
place, had no other interest for him but as they 
were connected w T ith the business of education, 
and subsidiary to higher ends. His more serious 
thoughts were habitually directed to the great 
truths and studies which belong especially to 
man's moral and religious nature. The knowl- 
edge of ourselves, of that which constitutes our 
distinctive humanity, and of our relations to that 
higher world which is the proper home of our 
spirits, was in his view the science of sciences, 
without which all the rest would be without a 
basis and without meaning. The position of Cole- 
ridge, that the Christian faith is the perfection of 
human intelligence, was one which he adopted 
from the fullest conviction of its truth. Hence, 
instead of making the distinction which many do, 
between faith and philosophy, as if they were at 
irreconcilable war with each other, as if it were 
impossible for the same individual to have them 
both together, but the possession of the one neces- 



120 MEMOIR. 

sarily implied the abandonment of the other, he 
held it to be our duty as Christians, " to think as 
well as to act rationally, and to see that our con- 
victions of truth rest on grounds of right reason." 
" What is not rational in theology," he main- 
tained, " is of course irrational, and cannot be of 
the household of faith." Not that reason is com- 
petent to teach us the peculiar doctrines of Chris- 
tian revelation. This certainly lies altogether be- 
yond its province. Not that it can give us those 
experiences or states of being which constitute 
experimental or spiritual religion. These rest 
on other grounds. But neither the doctrines nor 
experiences of true religion can contradict the 
clear convictions of right reason. He thought it 
a point of great moment, and well worthy of con- 
sideration, that it is not the method of the genuine 
philosopher to separate his philosophy and religion, 
and, adapting his principles independently in each, 
leave them to be reconciled or not, as the case 
may be. A thinking man " has, and can have 
rationally, but one system, in which his philosophy 
becomes religious, and his religion philosophical." 
It is no part of my design to speak at any length 
of Dr. Marsh's religious creed, which indeed dif- 
fered in no essential respect from that professed 
and taught by the early reformers; but I may ob- 
serve that the points on which he insisted with 
peculiar earnestness, as being immediately con- 
nected with the feeling of responsibleness, and 
with right views of moral evil, and as most liable, 
at the present day, to be perverted, were those of 



MEMOIR. 121 

the freedom of the will, and of human dependence. 
As to the former, his views are well-known. In 
regard to the latter, he said that he could not con- 
ceive of a more irrational dogma, or more contra- 
dictory to the inward experience of the Christian, 
or one that involves more inconvenient conse- 
quences, than that which teaches the existence of 
a self-regenerative power, and places the seat of 
moral evil out of the will. The whole seemed to 
him to be mistaking and misrepresenting the great 
fact on which Christianity itself is based, as the 
antecedent ground of its necessity, — the fact of 
original sin. " Those writers and teachers," he 
said, " who think in this way to make the subject 
more clear, do in fact so lean to their own under- 
standing as to insist on comprehending it in a 
sense in which it is incomprehensible, and of 
course misconceive it to the extent of making it 
no sin at all. Hence, of necessity, if consistent, 
they must also misconceive the doctrine of redemp- 
tion, and indeed make both the disease and the 
remedy a very superficial affair, and very easily 
understood" 

On the point last mentioned, the doctrine of 
redemption, he had the misfortune to find that his 
views, owing perhaps to the different position from 
which he was accustomed to look at the subject, 
were very frequently misapprehended. Those 
with whom he conversed on this point were apt 
to take partial statements, which could not be 
understood without a knowledge of the whole sys- 
tem to which they pertained, and give them an 
16 



122 MEMOIR. 

undue importance. Thus, when, in speaking of 
the atonement, he confessed his ignorance of the 
objective nature of the work, he was sometimes 
understood as denying the doctrine altogether ; 
than which nothing could be farther from his 
thoughts. Alluding in one of his letters to a con- 
versation of this sort, in which his views appear to 
have been perversely misapprehended, he says : 
" I did not deny even the vicarious nature of 
Christ's death. I held it to be essential to the 
work of redemption ; but as to the precise rela- 
tions of it, and the mode in which it is effective to 
that end, I could not dogmatize as confidently as 
many others are prepared to do." There is a re- 
mark of his on this point, which he made in his 
last illness, and which is quoted in the discourse 
preached at his funeral by President Wheeler, so 
beautiful and pertinent that I cannot forbear to 
transcribe it in this place : " If I speculated on 
this subject," said he, " it was only to place it 
within the necessary limits of systematic contem- 
plation. I never dreamed of removing a single 
feature of light or shade from it as it stands, and 
must stand, to the common faith, and for the com- 
mon salvation, of all believers. And what I may 
have said or think, no more impairs its use for the 
purposes of spiritual life, peace and joy, to myself 
and others, than the analysis, which the chemist 
makes of water, destroys it for common use." 

Once he received a letter from a divine of some 
note, with whom he had corresponded on this 
topic, in which the writer, after lamenting the per- 



MEMOIR. 123 

version of his great learning and talents, charitably 
quoted, as applicable to his case, some of the most 
pointed texts of Scripture about " philosophy and 
vain deceit," " profane babblings," " making ship- 
wreck of the faith," and other passages of like 
import. What reply he made to that individual, 
or whether he ever made any, I have no means of 
knowing ; but he observed in general, with regard 
to those who were so fond of misrepresenting him, 
"Whether I or they lean more to our own under- 
standing, and trust more in human wisdom and 
philosophy falsely so called, is not perhaps for me 
to decide. If I were disposed to controversy, it 
w r ould, I suppose, be very easy for me to make a 
noise in the great Babel ; but they make enough 
without my help." 

So far was he, indeed, from being in any sense 
carried away by his philosophy from the Christian 
faith, that it was from the religious point of view, 
and by the Christian standard, he was accus- 
tomed to judge of the character, bearing, and in- 
fluence of everything that came under his notice, 
whether in the religious, political or literary world. 
Without enlarging on this, I will simply introduce 
here an extract from one of his letters to a valued 
correspondent, in which he touches upon the cur- 
rent literature of the day. " How little," he says, 
" of the literature that falls in the way of young 
people, and of that which is most fascinating, is 
what we could wish in this respect, (viz. its relig- 
ious influence.) The works and life of Sir Walter 
Scott leave the reader, to say the least, indifferent 



124 MEMOIR. 

to religious principle ; those of Charles Lamb are 
certainly no better ; and with all the high aspira- 
tions of Wordsworth, there is much in his writings 
that is more favorable to an undefined naturalism 
or pantheism, than to the truth of the gospel. 
The fact is, I fear, that the Christian world has, 
of late, enjoyed too much worldly prosperity for 
the spiritual interests of the church itself, and our 
Christianity hangs so loosely upon us, that we are 
in danger of forgetting and denying both the 
Father and the Son. We want men, who, com- 
prehending the philosophy and the spirit of the 
age, have at the same time the spirit, the active 
zeal and the eloquence of Paul. The young men 
about Cambridge and Boston among Unitarians, 
and to some extent among others, I have no doubt, 
will adopt the " spiritual philosophy," so called, 
/against Locke and Edwards; and will they stop 
.with the Eclecticism of Cousin ? As the young 
men of education go, so goes the world. The 
popular religious works, and the general style of 
preaching among all classes and denominations, 
have too superficial and extraneous a character to 
protect speculative minds at all against the philo- 
sophical dogmas and criticisms with which our 
popular literature is so abundantly furnished. We 
need either a deeper and more heartfelt and heart- 
protecting practical piety, or else a more vigorous 
and profound philosophical spirit, in the interest of 
truth, and armed for its defence. We ought in- 
deed to have both ; but how are w T e to obtain 
them ? " 



MEMOIR. 125 

In all efforts for the promotion of the great 
interests of humanity, for the increase of true re- 
ligion and piety among ourselves, and for the gen- 
eral spread of Christianity through the world, Dr. 
Marsh took a deep and lively interest. He looked 
upon such efforts as the glory of the age, and felt 
it a privilege to co-operate in them as far as his 
means and opportunities would allow. But while 
he heartily approved of all the great objects which 
in these latter days have enlisted the feelings and 
called forth the activity of Christian benevolence, 
he could not always approve of the measures re- 
sorted to for promoting them. He had little faith 
in the efficacy of any other means to reform the 
world, than the simple power of gospel truth. 
Expedients of mere human cunning and contriv- 
ance, whatever might be their immediate effects, 
appeared to him rather an injury to the cause they 
pretended to advance, and the more so in the same 
proportion as they departed from the noble sim- 
plicity of the gospel. He was astonished at the 
ease with which even good men sometimes allowed 
themselves to be deceived in this matter ; and he 
could no longer be still, when he observed whole 
communities rushing thoughtlessly into innovations, 
wrong in principle and unsafe in practice, which, 
whatever they might promise at first, could scarce- 
ly fail to result otherwise than in injury to the 
cause of true religion, and destruction to the peace 
and order of the churches. On one occasion in 
particular, he felt himself called upon to take an 
open and determined stand against an innovation 



126 MEMOIR. 

of this sort, which, under the sanction and patron- 
age of influential men, in and out of the State, 
was threatening to become the universal order of 
the day. Sometime in the year 1836, an itinerant 
minister, or evangelist, by the name of Burchard, 
came on a visit to the State of Vermont, and was 
employed to preach in some of the churches. He 
was a man of considerable address and power over 
the passions, with a quick perception of individual 
character, and great tact in adapting a set of meas- 
ures to bring the community into a certain state 
of feeling, and then make the public feeling react 
upon the minds of individuals. The seeming suc- 
cess that attended his labors inspired a very gen- 
eral confidence both in the man and in his meas- 
ures ; and the new system of making converts by 
rudeness of language, joined with a certain tact- 
ical skill, threatened to supplant, at least for a 
time, the more orderly and quiet means of winning 
souls to Christ by the power of the truth. Dr. 
Marsh looked upon the whole movement with sus- 
picion from the first ; but when the scenes came 
to be enacted before his own eyes, he felt com- 
pelled to employ his pen and the whole force of 
his personal influence in opposition to a system so 
palpably mischievous and absurd. Its friends and 
advocates were in the habit of appealing to expe- 
rience, and thought the propriety of the measures, 
revolting as they might be to the unbiased sensi- 
bilities of the pious heart, was still sufficiently 
confirmed by their surprising results. He could 
not listen to such language ; his great objection to 



MEMOIR. 127 

the whole system was its confessedly empirical 
character. "Are we to be told," said he, " when 
a novel system of measures for the promotion of 
religion is proposed, that with the Bible in our 
hands, and all that we know, or ought to know, of 
the principles of the gospel in their application to 
the conscience, we must not pass our judgment 
upon it till we have tried it ; and whatever may 
be our objections to it beforehand, its apparent 
good results must silence them ? But who is to 
judge the nature of the results, and how long a 
time is to be allowed for proving that what appears 
to be good, is truly so ? If immediate appearances 
of good are to be taken as an unanswerable argu- 
ment in favor of a novel system of doctrines and 
measures, and the majorities in our churches are 
to judge and decide on those appearances, uncon- 
trolled by that knowledge and insight into the 
deeper principles of religious truth, which can be 
expected only as the result of mature reflection 
in those who are set for the defence of the gospel, 
what limit can there be to new experiments, and 
how long will our churches sustain themselves 
under influences so radically subversive of what- 
ever is fixed and permanent, whether in doctrines 
or the institutions of religion ? " The representa- 
tions and remonstrances of Dr. Marsh, through the 
press, before associations of ministers, and wherever 
he could get access to the public mind, were not 
without their effect ; and the evil which threatened 
to deluge the religious community, and against 
which he was the first to lift up a standard, grad- 



128 MEMOIR. 

uallj subsided and died away from this part of the 
land. 

I have nothing more to relate in regard to mat- 
ters connected with the public life of this truly 
great and good man. The remainder of his days 
were passed in the silent pursuits of study, in the 
faithful discharge of his professional duties, and in 
the patient endurance of great privations and the 
severest domestic trials. In 1838, he lost his 
second wife ; and in consequence partly of this 
event, and partly of pecuniary embarrassments, 
found himself under the unpleasant necessity of 
disposing of his house, and of breaking up his 
family. The last entry which he made in his 
private journal relates to these melancholy and 
painful reverses : 

" Aug. 20. How much have I gone through, 
in the providence of God, since the last record was 
made here ! Again am I left alone, and my chil- 
dren motherless. My dear wife, after a lingering 
decline since March last, was taken to her final 
rest on Sunday morning, the 12th of this month, 
at about three o'clock, just ten years, within twen- 
ty-four hours, since the like affliction befel me. 
What lessons of instruction, what excitements and 
encouragements to the service of God, have I not 
received in the life and death of these beloved 
companions ! What examples of simplicity and 
purity of heart, of self-denial and devotion to their 
domestic duties, to their friends, to the cause of 
truth and to God ! Dear L., with all her sincere 
and hearty devotion, and her warm affection as a 



MEMOIR. 129 

wife and mother, gone, too, from a world of trial 
to a world of rest and blessedness ! Thanks be to 
God for all that she was while she lived, and es- 
pecially for that consolation which she has left in 
the assurance that a spirit so meek, so devoted, 
and so acquiescent in the will of God, cannot but 
be blessed wherever it is conscious of the presence 
and government of God. 

" Sept. 16. After an absence of three weeks at 
Hartford, partly to dispose of my children, and 
partly to recover from fatigue and exhaustion of 
spirits, I returned yesterday. And oh to what a 
place have I returned ! How changed from what it 
used to be, when on returning, I was received here 
with open arms and bounding hearts ? — I no 
longer have a family around me, nor the endear- 
ments of a home. My mother-in-law is with 
another daughter at Montpelier, my children are 
dispersed, so that I am now here literally alone. 
Oh that my time may be consecrated to the truth, 
and to God, that when I have accomplished my 
task, I too may go to my rest with the same com- 
posure and holy confidence in God, as were exhib- 
ited by the dear companions of my past years. 

" Sept. 30. During the past fortnight I have 
done little but make arrangements for rny accom- 
modation, and prepare to enter again upon my 
professional duties. Alas ! how can I again be- 
come interested in those pursuits which I have so 
long prosecuted with the cheering smiles of com- 
panions, and amid the endearments of a home, 
now so desolate. I am here in my solitary rooms, 
17 



130 MEMOIR. 

and look around in vain for her to whom I loved 
to go when the labor of the day was done. To 
whom now can I go for comfort when I am sad, 
and to what rejoicing heart can I run, when my 
own heart is animated with new views of truths, 
with new hopes and more cheerful prospects ? 
What does not remind me that I am alone and 
desolate ? But why do I dwell upon such reflec- 
tions ? Let me rather gird my mind for the duties 
of life, and spend my remaining days as a pilgrim, 
still and ever looking, while I labor on, for that 
rest which remaineth for the people of God." 

The physical constitution of Dr. Marsh was 
never very robust, and several years before the last 
attack of the disease which brought him to the 
grave, bleeding at the lungs, he had been visited 
in the same manner, and for a time felt somewhat 
alarmed for himself. But he soon recovered, and 
enjoyed his usual health till the winter of 1841-2, 
when, after taking a slight cold, he was suddenly 
seized in the night-time, while on his bed, with a 
recurrence of the complaint, but not so as to give 
him at first much uneasiness. In a few days, 
however, the bleeding returned, with an increase 
of violence, and it soon became evident, both to 
his friends and to himself, that there could be no 
expectation of his permanent recovery. 

This gave him no other solicitude than it would 
be natural for one to feel, who was conscious 
within himself of great and useful plans which he 
had long been preparing to carry into execution, 
but which must now, to all appearances, fail of 



MEMOIR. 131 

their accomplishment. With the returning Spring, 
he indulged a feeble hope that he might so far re- 
cover as to be able to make a journey to the South, 
in quest of the temporary relief — which was all he 
looked for — to be obtained from a milder climate. 
But this hope also was soon abandoned ; when he 
cheerfully surrendered himself to the will of God, 
and directed his thoughts to the great work of 
preparing for the inevitable event which was so 
near before him. Through his whole illness, he 
enjoyed remarkable clearness and serenity of 
mind ; and those of his friends who were privi- 
leged to sit by him and listen to his heavenly dis- 
course, will never forget the impression left on 
their minds by those sadly pleasing interviews. 
His sickness was attended with but little pain or 
uneasiness, except what arose from an occasional 
difficulty of breathing. He died on Sunday morn- 
ing, July 3, 1842, at the house of his brother-in- 
law, David Reed, Esq., in Colchester, in the 48th 
year of his age. His funeral was attended with 
every demonstration of respect by a large and 
friendly concourse of the citizens of Burlington, 
of clergymen from the neighboring towns, and of 
the members, of the University to which he be- 
longed ; and a discourse, which has been published, 
was pronounced on the occasion by the Rev. Dr. 
Wheeler, President of the University. To that 
discourse I refer my readers for a faithful portrait- 
ure of the man, as well as for many of the beauti- 
ful sayings that fell from his lips, and expressed 



132 



MEMOIR. 



the peace, serenity and christian trust, with which 
he awaited his approaching change. 

In the personal appearance of Dr. Marsh, there 
was nothing which would strike or interest a com- 
mon observer ; but few there were, perhaps, who 
sooner won upon the respect and esteem of stran- 
gers, even on the slightest intercourse, so gentle 
were his manners, so sensible and yet so unpre- 
tending the style of his conversation. " I know 
not," says one of the best judges, " that I ever 
met with a person for whom I felt so deep a rev- 
erence on so short an acquaintance. But he car- 
ried a character in his face not to be mistaken — 
in which, except in one other instance, I never 
saw so legibly written the peace of God. The 
moral beauty which was so striking in his expres- 
sion, had an elevation in it, from its connexion 
with his mind, that I have rarely seen. And how 
winning the simplicity of his manners ! You could 
not for a moment doubt, that they were the neces- 
sary growth of a pure heart, and no common order 
of intellect." 

His feeble and tremulous voice disqualified him 
for making an impression as a public speaker ; but 
in the lecture-room in the College chapel, and in 
other places where he had " fit audience though 
few," the depth of his thoughts, the calm earnest- 
ness of his manner and the felicity and appropri- 
ateness of his language never failed to interest his 
hearers, beyond all power of a more fluent but 
superficial eloquence. 



MEMOIR. 133 

His habits of living were temperate and abste- 
mious, almost to a fault. Without being fastidious 
or particular about his diet, he confined himself, of 
choice, for the most part to vegetable food, and 
seldom ate or drank beyond a very moderate 
allowance. He was fond of walking, and once 
travelled on foot, in a direct course, over mountain 
and valley, from Burlington to Hartford, his 
native place. As a student, he was regular and 
severe, seldom allowing any day to pass without 
its appointed task, and often noting down in his 
journal what books he had read, and the impres- 
sion they had left on his mind. He devoted much 
time also to meditation and to writing, and with 
all his other duties and labors, maintained an ex- 
tensive and learned correspondence, in which he 
poured out the treasures of his intellect without 
stint or measure. If his letters could be collected, 
they would form, I have no doubt, a most interest- 
ing and instructive volume. 

His life was cut short, before he could realize, 
as he wished and intended to do, the objects to 
which so many hours of laborious study and pro- 
found reflection had been devoted. But who will 
say that he lived in vain ; that he has done nothing 
for the promotion of a right philosophical spirit, 
nothing for the advancement of moral and religious 
truth, and nothing in giving an impulse and direc- 
tion to other minds, whose influence may be felt 
hereafter ? Some may doubt the soundness of his 
philosophy, and perhaps the orthodoxy of his 
creed. But none can question the nobleness of 



134 



MEMOIR. 



his aims, the purity and disinterestedness of his 
motives, and the untiring diligence of his endeav- 
ors after all that is praise-worthy and true. May 
there be many others to rise up and follow in his 
steps. 









APPENDIX. 



LETTERS OF DR. MARSH. 

[To S. T. Coleridge.] 

Burlington, Vt, U. S. A., March 23, 1829. 
Dear Sir : — The motives which, lead me to hazard 
the presumption of addressing you, I hope will appear, in 
the course of this letter, to be such as may justify me to 
your sense of propriety. Although a stranger to literary 
reputation, and never likely to be known to you by other 
means than by sending you my name, I venture to believe 
you will give me credit for higher aims than the gratifica- 
tion of literary vanity in so doing. I should probably ex- 
pose myself to a more deserved imputation of the sort, if 
in a country where they are not very generally known, I 
should claim such an acquaintance with your works, and 
such a sympathy with their spirit, as would entitle me to 
seek an intercourse with yourself. But I do not mean to 
claim for myself so much as this ; and only say, that from 
my past knowledge of your " Literary Life," some ten 
years ago, I have sought, as my opportunities would per- 
mit, a more intimate acquaintance with your writings, and 
with your views on all the great and important subjects of 
which you have treated. If I have not been benefitted by 
so doing, and those with whom I have been associated, it 
is not your fault ; for I have long been convinced, that 
though " there are some tilings hard to be understood," and 



136 APPENDIX. 

though your views are not, in the works which we have, 
1 unfolded from first principles in a manner suited to the 
novice in philosophy, yet it is in consequence of the false 
and superficial notions to which the world is accustomed, 
rather than to their inherent difficulty, that your philosoph- 
ical writings have been so generally considered mystical 
and unintelligible. I trust, however, that I have derived 
some degree of profit and of clearer insight from the study 
of your writings, and have sometimes ventured to hope 
that they would acquire an influence in this country which 
would essentially benefit our literature and philosophy. 
You probably know, nearly as well as I can tell you, the 
state of opinions among us, in regard to every department 
of intellectual effort. We feel here so immediately the 
changes in these matters which take place in England and 
Scotland, that important discussions on questions of gen- 
eral interest to literary men and christians, when started 
there, soon draw attention here, and are followed up with 
similar results. The miscalled Baconian philosophy has 
been no less talked of here than there, with the same per- 
verse application. The works of Locke were formerly 
much read and used as text books, in our colleges ; but of 
late have veiy generally given place to the Scotch writers ; 
and Stewart, Campbell and Brown are now almost uni- 
versally read as the standard authors on the subjects of 
which they treat. In theology, the works of Edwards 
have had, and still have, with a large portion of our think- 
ing community, a very great influence ; and we have had 
several schemes of doctrine, formed out of his leading 
principles, which have had each its day and its defenders. 
You will readily see the near affinity that exists between 
his philosophical views and those of Brown ; and yet it 
happens, that the Unitarians, while they reject Edwards, 
and treat him with severity for his Calvinism, as it is here 
called, give currency to Brown for views that would seem 
to lead to what is most objectionable in the work on the 
Freedom of the Will. There has lately risen some discus- 
sions among our most able orthodox divines, which seem 
to me likely to shake the authority of Edwards among 



APPENDIX. 137 

them ; and I trust your " Aids to Reflection" is, with a 
few, exerting an influence that will help to place the lov- 
ers of truth and righteousness on better philosophical 
grounds. 

The German philosophers, Kant and his followers, are I 
very little known in this country ; and our young men who | 
have visited Germany, have paid little attention to that 
department of study while there. I cannot boast of being 
wiser than others in this respect ; for though I have read 
a part of the works of Kant, it was under many disadvan- 
tages, so that I am indebted to your own writings for the 
ability to understand what I have read of his works, and 
am waiting with some impatience for that part of your 
works, which will aid more directly in the study of those 
subjects of which he treats. The same views are gener- 
ally entertained in this country as in Great Britain, re- 
specting German literature ; and Stewart's _ History of 
Philosophy especially has had an extensive influence to 
deter students from the study of their philosophy. Wheth- 
er any change in this respect is to take place, remains to 
be seen. To me, it seems a point of great importance, to 
awaken among our scholars a taste for more manly and 
efficient mental discipline, and to recall into use those old 
writers, whose minds were formed by a higher standard. 
I am myself making efforts to get into circulation some of 
the practical works of the older English divines, both for 
the direct benefit which they will confer upon the religious 
community, and because, in this country, the most practical 
and efficient mode of influencing the thinking world, is to 
begin with those who think from principle and in earnest ; 
in other words, with the religious community. It is with 
the same views, that I am aiming to introduce some little 
knowledge of your own views, through the medium of a 
religious journal, which circulates among the most intelli- 
gent and serious clergy, and other christians. It is partly 
with a view to this, that I venture to address you, and to 
request the favor of an occasional correspondence with 
you. In the last number of the Journal alluded to, the 
u Christian Spectator" for March 1829, published at New 
18 



138 APPENDIX. 

Haven, Connecticut, I have a review of Prof. Stuart's 
Commentary on Hebrews, in which I have given a view 
of the Atonement, or rather Redemption, I believe nearly 
corresponding with yours, and indeed have made free use 
of your language. In a note, I had also given you credit 
for it, but the note was omitted by the publishers, and a 
few paragraphs of their own remarks added. If you should 
have the curiosity to see the use which I have made of 
your works, the journal can be found, I presume, at Mil- 
lers' American Reading Room, or at the office of the Chris- 
tian Observer. It has been my intention to write an arti- 
cle, or perhaps more than one, for the same journal, on 
your "Aids to Reflection ; " but my other duties will prob- 
ably prevent it for the present. I shall send you, with this, 
an Address delivered by me on coming to my present 
place, in which also you will find free use made of your 
works ; and I cannot resist the inclination also to refer you 
to an article on Ancient and Modern Poetry in the North 
American Review for July 1822, which I wrote while pur- 
suing professional studies at Andover, Massachusetts. If 
you should impute to me some weakness in thus referring 
you to some few things which I have written, I can only 
say, that as you seemed, in your Literary Life, to be grati- 
fied with the use made of your pohtical essays in this 
country, I have also a farther motive in the supposition 
that you might be gratified with knowing that your philo- 
sophical writings are not wholly neglected among us. If, 
after reading the pieces to which I have referred, Sir, you 
should think the seed which you have been sowing beside 
all waters, is likely to bring forth any valuable fruits in 
these ends of the earth, I beg that you will pardon my 
boldness, and write as suits your convenience, to one who 
would value nothing more highly than your advice arid 
guidance in the pursuit of truth, and the discharge of the 
great duty to which I am called, of imparting it to those 
who are hereafter to be men of power and influence in 
this great and growing republic. 

With sentiments of the highest esteem, 

Your very obedient servant, 

JAMES MARSH. 



APPENDIX. 139 



[To a young Clergyman.] 

Burlington, March 9, 1837. 
My Dear Sir : — I have some experience, as you sug- 
gest, in regard to such thoughts and speculations as you 
are busied with at present. I have occupied a great deal 
of time, and expended a great deal of thought, in conceiv- 
ing what I could do in different circumstances from those 
in which I was placed ; and could I have followed my own 
inclinations, and have had a farm to go to, I should at one 
period very certainly have rusticated myself, and quit pub- 
lic life altogether. For a great part of my life, I have felt 
myself chained to situations in which I felt myself par- 
alyzed in the exertion of my powers, and vainly longed 
for freedom. But I now feel that had I yielded less to 
such feelings, and without any reflective reference to what 
I could or could not do, gone on to do my utmost, more or 
less, in the sphere of duty in which I found myself placed, 
I should have saved myself vast trouble, and done the 
world more good. I am convinced that the views you 
have in regard to the union of farming, or any other busi- 
ness of that sort, with the higher duties of one who means 
to exert an extended influence on the intellectual and 
moral and religious character of those about him, however 
fair at a distance, are not easily realized in practice. 
There is a continual tendency to merge the higher ends 
in the lower, and very few would do more than to hold 
their own, in regard to intellectual power and resources. 
One, too, is exposed to more injurious imputations in re- 
gard to motives, and his authority and influence with oth- 
ers are more weakened, by their taking such a course, than 
in preaching for a salary ; and I know no way of avoiding 
this evil any where, but by a life so consecrated to the 
discharge of duty, so laborious and self-denying and holy, 
that we may appeal, with the apostle, to every man's con- 
science, for the simplicity and godly sincerity of our con- 
versation. I would say, in a word, if you will allow me to 
speak freely my own mind, do not allow your powers to 
be relaxed and their effect paralyzed, by reflections upon 



140 APPENDIX. 

other possible conditions of usefulness ; but consider your- 
self as called of God to preach the gospel where you are, 
till his Providence shall plainly call you elsewhere, and, 
making that your first and great object, " make full proof 
of your ministry." In the mean time your mind will be 
enlarged, and you will be better prepared to do good to 
your own people, as a religious teacher, if you keep before 
you all the interests of humanity, in their widest extent, 
and so labor for these, that your weekly routine of paro- 
chial duty shall become at length but a subordinate part 
of your labors for the great cause of truth and of right- 
eousness. R told me, when here, that your peo- 
ple were more and more pleased with your style of preach- 
ing, and that your prospect of usefulness was every way 
good. As the matter appears to me, therefore, I would 
say, think of nothing else for the present, but of doing your 
utmost in the sphere of duty that surrounds you. I could 
give you a long talk upon the various points in your letter, 
and an earnest one, if it were worth while ; but you see 
my drift, and can readily supply the rest. I will only add, 
with emphasis, do not waste time and energy, as I have 
done, by thinking what you could do in other circum- 
stances ; but let the only question be, how can I do most 
here, where the providence of God has placed me, for ac- 
complishing the great ends to which my life is consecrated, 
making the proper duties of your station the first and start- 
ing point of alL 

Very sincerely, yours, &c, 

J. MARSH. 



[To the Rev. G. S. W., Sackett's Harbor, N. Y.J 

Burlington, Feb. 2, 1838. 
My Dear Sir : — I am sorry your letter has been so 
long unanswered, and that I should have seemed so negli- 
gent of your claims. But I assure you it has not been as 



APPENDIX. 141 

it may have seemed in the case, for indeed I have written 
the amount of three or four letters, at different times ; but 
in my attempt to bring a great subject within the compass 
of a letter, have so perplexed it that I cannot send what I 
have written. So, as I have not tune to try again, and if I 
did, should probably succeed no better, I must do at last 
what I might have done at first, send you a brief and hasty 
reply. You do not, in fact, need any help from me, to fol- 
low out the problem upon which you have been at work, 
and I am glad to see that you are so obviously on the right 
track. What I aimed at, in what I wrote, was to show 
some of the more general and philosophical principles 
which connect your view of the identity of subject and 
object with the grounds of philosophical truth universally. 
But the subject is too extensive and too difficult for a let- 
ter. I will only say here, then, that the doctrine, in its 
practical bearing, as you apply it to the leading doctrines 
of the gospel, is nothing more than a philosophical expres- 
sion of what is implied in numerous passages of Scripture, 
as understood by the old divines, and as they must be un- 
derstood, if we would find in them any spiritual meaning. 
I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me. Only so far as 
this is true, and I have the inward experience of the cru- 
cifying of the old man and of the awakened energies of a 
new and spiritual life ; i. e., only so far as I am crucified 
with Christ, and risen with him, by that power of Christ 
which effectually worketh in them that believe ; only so 
far, I say, is Christ any thing for me, either in his death or 
his life. We may, indeed, know him after the flesh, as 
we know our fellow-men ; i. e., historically and from out- 
ward experience, but not inwardly and spiritually. He is, 
and can be recognized as, my Redeemer and Saviour, only 
as by the living power of his Spirit he has become the in- 
ward and actual life of my life, so that by virtue of his 
gracious inworking, my enslaved will is freed from the 
bondage of nature, empowered to overcome the propensi- 
ties of nature, to abjure the evil principle of self-will, or 
the law of nature, and freely to obey the universal law of 
truth and holiness. 



142 



APPENDIX. 



But this statement even, I am aware, seems mystical 
when presented in this naked way ; and should I attempt 
to enlarge here, I should only make it worse. But there 
is a way, I believe, of developing the subject, and of ex- 
hibiting the relation of the subjective to the objective, in 
the successive gradations of powers, from those of organic 
life in its lowest forms, upward to the development of the 
supernatural or spiritual, that would throw light on the re- 
lation of our spiritual being to nature and to the spiritual. 
I can only say here, that as the powers of our natural life 
have then correlative objects in the natural world, so that 
which is spiritual in us must seek and find its correlatives 
in the spiritual world; and that universally the subjective 
is the measure of the objective, each necessarily presup- 
posing the other, as the condition of its actual manifesta- 
tion. Thus the correlative of conscience is God, and with 
the awakening or actuation of the subjective, there is a 
necessaiy presentation of the objective, and a commensu- 
rate conviction of its reality. In other words, God is the 
objectivity and reality of the conscience, and hi proportion 
as the conscience is awakened, does it become impossible 
to doubt the existence of God. In like manner, we may 
say that where the principle of spiritual life is awakened, 
it has its correlative object, Christ, in the fulness of his 
divine nature, as that which it presupposes, in the same 
sense that the principle of organic life presupposes the 
world of sense, as its necessary condition and correlative. 

But not to leave you with these vaguenesses for the 
sole answer to your letter, after so long delay, I will direct 
one of our recent graduates at Rochester to send a manu- 
script to you, which is in his hands, and was originally 
sent to Mr. Dana, of Boston. It may help you to cany out 
your thoughts hi some particulars, and even in theological 
matters, though it is not itself properly theological. I will 
thank you to return it to me as soon as convenient 

Yours, truly, 

JAS. MARSH. 



APPENDIX. 143 



[To Mr. J. M.] 

Burlington, April 2, 1838. 
My Dear Sir : — I rejoice, and hope I am truly thank- 
ful to the God of all grace, for such news as your letter 
contains. I rejoice with you, in your experience of the 
blessedness of trusting in him, and of looking to that Lamb 
of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. If there 
is joy hi heaven over one sinner that repenteth, there is 
surely cause of joy and gratitude for us, when, as we have 
reason to hope and believe, our friends are brought from 
darkness to light ; and in addition to the general causes of 
rejoicing, there is also that arising from our personal rela- 
tions. We have all here felt much interest in your relig- 
ious feelings and character, and anxious not only on your 
own account, but that to your other qualifications for act- 
ing well your part in a world that so much needs both 
thinking and good men, you might have also that of a 
fixed religious principle, that of faith in God and faith in 
the truth. We may now, I trust, cherish with confidence 
the belief that in whatever outward sphere of action your 
judgment, and the advice of friends, may lead you to seek 
the ends of living, they will always be worthy ends, and 
subordinate to the great end of glorifying God. Where 
there is not a principle of religious faith, you will under- 
stand now how it is that, while we hope for the best, we 
cannot feel assured for our young men, that they will al- 
ways be found walking in the truth, or that they will not 
become the prey of a worldly and selfish ambition. But 
when a man's will is brought in subjection to the law, or 
rather inwardly actuated by the living power of conscience, 
as God working in it both to will and to do, and when the 
understanding is illuminated by that inward light, which 
shineth more and more unto the perfect day, this power 
and light we can trust with implicit confidence, not only 
as securing the man himself amidst the buffctings of 
temptation, but as having a diffusive energy, and exerting 
a controlling influence upon the world around. I hope 
and pray that in and through you, as a chosen instrument 



144 APPENDIX. 

of God, they may be manifested for the promotion of every 
good word and work, and for the salvation of many souls. 
As to the sphere of action in which you shall seek to serve 
God in your generation, I hardly dare give advice, but will 
mention some of the considerations which seem to me to 
pertain to the question. I take it for granted, that a Chris- 
tian, animated by the ardor of love to Christ and to the 
souls of men, will most naturally seek to engage in labors 
immediately promotive of the glory of the one, and of the 
salvation of the other. I have no doubt, moreover, that 
he will find more satisfaction, more that is congenial to his 
feelings, in preaching the gospel of Christ, and striving to 
win the souls of men unto obedience to its law of love, 
even with all the hardships and self-denial which the 
ministry of the gospel involves, than in any other sphere 
of duty. Yet it could not be inferred that it is the duty of 
every man, even of every one qualified for it, to engage 
directly in the labors of the ministry. Constituted as our 
Christian communities are, requiring, as they do, the pow- 
er of truth and religious principle in every department, 
requiring indeed to be pervaded by the spirit of truth, 
there is no regularly constituted sphere of duty, where the 
most enlightened and warm-hearted Christian may not 
find ample scope for the exercise of all his powers and all 
his graces. In reference to the interests of education and 
to the political interests of the country, connected as they 
so obviously are with the interests of the world, and rest- 
ing ultimately for their security on the diffused influence 
and power of truth, as I have no doubt you now very clear- 
ly perceive, how often have I wished for men in our public 
councils, who could see things from the higher point of 
view to which you allude ! How much do we need men, 
who, seeing things from that vantage ground, could and 
would advocate the cause of truth and right with the elo- 
quence of Burke and Chatham, combined with that inner 
soul and spirit of eloquence, which the writings of Paul 
the Apostle most adequately express ! What soul so vast 
in its conceptions, or so exuberant in the overflow of Chris- 
tian affections, as not to find objects large enough, and 



APPENDIX. 145 

interests sufficiently dear, for the full employment of mind 
and heart, among those which every day demand the la- 
bors of the pen and the press, of the pulpit and the halls 
of legislation. But I see I am giving you little help in de- 
ciding the question of employment, unless you should be 
led to look at objects more immediately connected with 
the exertion of Christian influence than the study and 
practice of law, which it seems to me you will find too far 
insulated to meet the promptings of your own heart. And 
yet I should not think it time misspent, to employ a year 
or so in the study of legal principles and matters connected 
with them. Theology I would at all events study, in some 
form ; if not with a view to preaching, yet as necessary to 
the higher objects, which I trust you will, at all events, 
aim at in life. But you must come down here and talk of 
this matter more at large. At present, your thoughts will 
be chiefly occupied with the more immediate spiritual 
interests of yourself and those around you; and it is best 
they should be so. You will find, probably, that you still 
know but in part, and that the depths of evil in your own 
heart, its self-flattering devices and consequent dangers, 
with the corresponding depth and height of the exceeding 
love and preventive grace of God, are learned but by de- 
grees The more you know of the one, the better will 
you understand the other. 

We are anxious to have you come and mingle with 
your former companions here, in the hope that you may 
be the means of good to them. There is, we trust, rather 
more than the usual sobriety and susceptibility to religious 
impressions among the students, and I hope that our new 
arrangement for religious worship maybe made a blessing, 
I am glad you read Cudworth, and wish you would join 
with his writings those of John Howe and Leighton. 
Howe's Blessedness of the Righteous, for depth of in- 
sight combined with practical efficiency in its appeals to 
the heart, is at least one of the best things in the language. 
Very affectionately and truly yours, 

J, MARSH. 



19 



146 APPENDIX. 



[To the same.] 



Burlington, Oct. 2, 1840. 

My Dear Sir: — I have but this moment received 
your letter, and too late, I fear, for you to get an answer 
before tomorrow morning. However, I will do my best to 
have it reach you. I shall not probably have occasion to 
use the long discourse which you have, within a few 
weeks, and you are quite welcome to keep it. The ser- 
mon which I inquired for, has appeared, so that I shall not 
need to ask for your copy. 

I fear I can hardly give, in a letter and in so much 
haste, a series of subjects for discussion, that will be of 
much service to you. I will, however, give an outline, that 
may be filled up afterwards. It will be connected, as you 
will see, with the philosophical views, which must of ne- 
cessity determine the method of a theological system ; but 
at the same time I would discuss each topic, under the 
practical aspect which it assumes in the word of God. 

1. Anthropology. Man, as a created, a dependent, a 
responsible, and therefore a free or self-determined, a 
spiritual and personal being ; his relation to the absolute 
and universal law of truth and duty, Iris primitive or ideal 
character and condition as formed in the Divine image, 
his fallen condition by nature, and relation of the finite 
free will to an individual nature on the one hand, and to 
the redemptive power of the Word and Spirit of God on 
the other. 

In connection with these topics, study carefully the 
Epistles of Paul, especially that to the Romans, with 
"Usteri's Paulinische LehrbegrifT, Tholuck's Commentary 
on Romans, Heinroth's Anthropologic and Psychologie, 
Coleridge, and I will venture to add, my sermons. Right 
views of these subjects are indispensable to all that fol- 
lows, as pertaining to the Christian system. 

2. The doctrine of a revelation, of inspiration, &c, and 
the true idea of these as connected with anthropology and 
psychology. The whole subject connects itself with our 



APPENDIX. 147 

views of the relation of the understanding to the reason on 
the one side, and to sense on the other. You will find 
valuable helps in the latter part of both works of Heinroth 
to which I referred above, as well as in Coleridge. Cole- 
ridge's work on Inspiration is not yet published. The 
common works, your teachers can refer you to. Nordhei- 
mer and Henry can probably help you to the German 
books. 

3. The doctrine of Redemption. Distinguish its sub- 
jective and objective necessity. The former, as already 
considered under the first head. The latter is a vexed 
question, and you will do well to study it as presented by 
different systems of Theology, and as treated by Tholuck 
and Coleridge, neither of whom, however, is very explicit. 
See Tholuck's Commentary on Eomans, 5th chapter. 
This is, of course, closely connected with the work of Re- 
demption in the same relations as subjective and objec- 
tive, or relative to the subject redeemed, and to the 
necessary requisitions of the law and character and God. 
The common method is to treat first, as connected with 
this whole subject, of the person and character of Christ, 
his relation to man and to God, and so to the several 
offices which he bears, as connected with the work of re- 
demption. 

4. The effects wrought in the redeemed — regenera- 
tion, faith, repentance ; and so all the fruits of the Spirit. 
This will involve, again, the relation of the believer to 
Christ, and the agency of the Spirit of God. The doctrines 
of justification and sanctification, and then relation to each 
other, you will find points of much controversy, and requir- 
ing careful study. Read St. Paul for yourself, and with 
all the help you can get. This topic lies at the bottom of 
some great divisions among theologians, and is comiected, 
as you will see, with the main topic under the previous 
head. 

The church, or the relation of believers to each other, as 
one hi spirit, and to Christ, as their common head, and as 
constituting the spiritual church, governed by a spiritual 
law, and co-operating to a spiritual end. The visible 



148 APPENDIX. 

church, as grounded on and deriving all its life and power 
and authority from this, and so a mere lifeless and spirit- 
less and unmeaning semblance, except as it expresses the 
actual and living presence and power of Christ in his 
members — his body, winch is the chmch. 

The future state of believers and unbelievers, future 
rewards and punishments, the spiritual world, the judg- 
ment and its consequences, &c. Theology in its limited 
sense, — the rational idea of God — grounds of a rational 
conviction of his existence — mode of existence — person- 
ality, trhmity, relation to nature or the material universe, 
and to the spiritual world, or spiritual existences. 

But I have made out a longer list than I intended ; yet 
I could think of no better way, than to put the subjects in 
the form of a systematic outline. Many things, however, 
are left out, as you will perceive, winch are necessary to 
a complete system. I believe you will find what I have 
given, to be subjects that have a systematic relation ta 
each other, and you can take up more or less, and more or 
less minutely, as you choose. For the purposes of the 
pulpit, I would discuss everything in a practical form, and 
cany nothing there simply speculative. My own more 
elaborate sermons are not such as I would approve for 
common use. There is so much of speculative interest in 
all our schools, that the plain, practical preaching of the 
gospel is likely to be lost sight of. Pray you rise above 
this ; and let your sermons breathe and utter forth the sol- 
emn earnestness and the yearning love for the souls of 
men, that characterize the gospel itself. Whatever may 
be the character of my own sermons, the exhibition of 
such a spirit is, in my deliberate judgment, the only 
preaching. 

Yours truly r 

J, MARSH. 



APPENDIX. 149 

LETTERS FROM CORRESPONDENTS. 

[From Dr. Rice. J 

Union Theological Seminary, April 14, 1829. 
My Dear Sir : — I have felt badly, that none of us an- 
swered the very interesting letter written by you, just 
after your great bereavement. I wish you to know the 
circumstances, which prevented my writing. Your letter 
came to hand just as I was preparing a sermon to preach 
on a particular occasion. As soon as this preparation was 
made, I had to leave home, and was laboriously engaged 
during a tour of six weeks. On my return, I had all the 
cares of the commencement of the session. By that time, 
your letter, in being handed about among the neighbors, 
was lost. I do most fully concur with you in opinion as 
to the importance of getting into circulation the writings 
of the great men who lived in the seventeenth century. 
And if you can succeed in your design, a benefit of incal- 
culable value will be conferred on New England. The 
theological taste has been too long formed on the model of 
metaphysics. Systems and sermons are moulded into 
this form. Rhetoric is extinct. Eloquence, instead of be- 
ing like the garden of Eden, bright in celestial light, and 
breathing the airs of heaven, is a very Hortus Siccus, with 
every flower labelled and pasted on blank paper; the 
colors all faded, the fragrance gone, and "behold all is 
very dry." There must be a new model. But it will 
never be framed by our teachers of Sacred Rhetoric. 
Indeed I have no doubt, but that they will impede the 
progress of Reformation. Something may be expected 
from an increased study of the Bible. If it were studied 
right, great improvements would of course follow. For 
the spirit of that inimitable composition cannot be breath- 
ed into a man, without an awakening of something in him 
corresponding to its sublimity, its pathos, its overpowering 
eloquence. The men whom we agree in admiring were 



150 APPENDIX. 

made what they were, in a great degree, by the Bible. 
Instead of sitting down to study it with a system of 
metaphysics to control their philology, they brought them- 
selves to its sacred pages, that they might feel the vis ful- 
minea, and breathe the heavenly aura of divine truth. 
Convinced that it was an emanation from the Eternal 
Source of truth, they entirely gave themselves up to its 
influences, and were borne by it extra flamantia moenia 
mundi. 

How different the writers of the present day ! But I 
need not stay to point out the contrast. You have espe- 
cially marked the difference in regard to religious feeling. 
It is true that the present age requires action. But cer- 
tainly religion is getting to be too much, in some places, 
an affair of business. It is becoming cold and calculating. 
And should the present excitement wear off, I apprehend 
the church will be left in a deplorably desolate and barren 
condition. I could wish indeed the activity of Christians 
to be increased a thousand fold ; but I wish to see them 
borne on by that profound, deep-toned feeling which per- 
vaded the inmost souls of such men as Leighton, Baxter, 
and Howe. But as to the business part of your undertak- 
ing, 1 hardly know what opinion to give. I should think 
that you would do well to have a subscription sufficient to 
cover your expenses. Selections have generally sold 
badly. The prevailing taste is for other things. Such 
poetry as Mrs. Hemans's, is more popular than Milton's. 
A souvenir in polite literature, and a sermon of cut and dry 
metaphysics, or cut and dry rhetoric, is all the rage. I think 
that there have been several English editions of Leighton. 
His whole works then would scarcely do well. Howe, 
Baxter, etc., are too voluminous for general reading, and 
would afford very good opportunity for selection. Bishop 
Hopkins is one of my favorites of the old school I could 
wish you to take something from him. Jeremy Taylor 
has been republished in this country. Some extracts from 
Thomas Browne's Beligio Medici would furnish a choice 
morceau — nor would I neglect the "silver-tongued Bates." 
Barrow has vast force, but not much feeling. He has no 



APPENDIX. 151 

rhetoric. If these hasty hints should give you any plea- 
sure, I shall be glad. 

Mrs. Rice unites with me in most affectionate remem- 
brances, and best wishes for your health and usefulness. 
Yours most truly, 

JOHN H. RICE. 

To the Rev. James Marsh, Burlington, Vermont. 



I From Dr. Follen.] 



Cambridge, April 14, 1832. 
Dear Sir : — Your very kind letter, wliich assured me 
of your favorable reception of the views of German phi- 
losophy which I had given in my Inaugural Discourse, has 
been a source of great satisfaction to me. I have delayed 
answering your letter in the hope to mid some leisure 
hours, in which I could express to you more fully my sen- 
timents on those topics of deep interest which you touch 
upon, and do my best to answer your questions. But as 
the desired time for a long letter may not arrive, I will in 
a few lines give you my views of what seem to me, from 
a very limited and recent experience in this country, to be 
the most desirable steps to be taken in order to infuse life 
and intelligence into the clay of our present philosophical 
literature and instruction. Your edition of Coleridge, with 
the excellent prefatoiy aids, has done and will do much to 
introduce and naturalize a better philosophy in this coun- 
try, and particularly to make men perceive that there is 
much in the philosophy of other nations, and that there is 
still more in the depths of then own minds that is worth 
exploring, and wliich cannot be had cheap and handy in 
the works of the Scotch and English dealers in philoso- 
phy. Still there is a want of good text-books, of works 
in wliich that spirit of a better philosophy is carried into 
each of its special branches. And here the important 
question arises, wliich of the various disciplines wliich 



152 APPENDIX. 

constitute the highest department of human knowledge, 
should be selected to begin the work of reformation. 
There are two on which I rest my hopes as the pioneers 
in philosophy. In a community which is deluged with 
superficial discussions on momentous questions which can 
be settled only by philosophic principles, I look upon 
Psychology and the history of Philosophy as the parents 
of a new race of thoughts and modes of reasoning. Those, 
therefore, who would dispose and prepare the public mind 
for the reception of philosophy in all its branches, who 
would lead men not only to use, but to understand their 
own reason, should lend the whole weight of then intellec- 
tual eminence to those two sciences. The one makes 
men acquainted with the ideas of others on the subject of 
philosophy, the other teaches them its realities in their own 
minds-, the one leads their understandings abroad to be- 
come acquainted with the intellectual world without them, 
the other guides them home to its living springs within 
them. I am not acquainted with a thorough work or a 
good text-book on either of those sciences in English; 
and in German literature, rich as it is in valuable works in 
these departments, I know no one of which a mere trans- 
lation would meet the wants of the community, though 
they furnish excellent materials. Thus, in the philosophy 
of the human mind, the Anthropology of Kant, and the 
Psychologies of Cams, Fries, and others, would greatly 
aid an able compiler, but neither of them would of itself, 
probably, succeed in supplanting the genteel and palata- 
ble philosophy of Brown. In the history of philosophy, 
an extract from Tenneman's great work, considerably 
larger than his own synopsis of it, I should think would 
be the most suitable undertaking. A truly philosophical 
logic seems to me the third great desideratum ; and it was 
with great pleasure that I heard from our mutual friend, 
r Mr. Henry, that you had actually announced one on the 
basis of Fries, whose work I consider the best on that sub- 
ject. Among the German works on logic, in your posses- 
sion, you do not mention that of Schulze, (the author of 
Aenesidemus,) which he used as a text-book . in his lee- 



APPENDIX. 153 

lures in Gottingen, and that of Tasche, compiled from the 
notes taken of Kant's lectures on logic. If these books 
should be of any service to you, I should be happy to lend 
them to you, and will send them in any way you may 
point out. There are many other topics on winch I wish 
to communicate with you, particularly the plan of Mr. 
Henry to publish a philosophical journal, winch seems to 
me a very desirable object. But I must conclude now, 
with the expression of my hope that tins summer will not 
pass away without bringing me the pleasure of a personal 
acquaintance with you. At any rate, I earnestly hope for 
a frequent exchange of thought with you upon subjects of 
such deep interest to us both. 

With the highest esteem, 

Your friend and servant, 

CHARLES FOLLEN. 

To President James Marsh, Burlington, Vermont. 



^ [From Mr. Gillman.] 

Highgate, Feb. 2Uh. 
Dear Sir : — Although your kind and sympathizing 
letter has remained unanswered, it gave me unfeigned 
satisfaction, as I felt it a mark of regard for myself, and an 
affectionate testimony of love for the memory of one of 
the best of human beings. Sorrow and sickness have, 
ever since we lost him, followed so closely on each other, 
that I have left many things undone which I yet never 
lost sight of; and among them was the assurance I owed 
you of my sense of the value of those feelings which in- 
duced you to address me. I am sorry I cannot give you 
any information respecting the writings Coleridge has left. 
But Mr. Henry Nelson Coleridge intends himself the 
pleasure of forwarding the new works, entitled " Literary 
Remains," published since Iris death, by the Bishop of 
20 



154 APPENDIX. 

Vermont, who has offered to convey any parcel to you. I 
am obliged by your introduction of that gentleman to me ; 
we were highly pleased with his manly simplicity, and in- 
teresting appearance and manners. I beg your acceptance, 
my dear Sir, of the first volume of Coleridge's Life. The 
second volume is not yet finished, but it will, I think, be 
the most interesting of the two, as it will contain so many 
notes and memoranda of his own. How much I wish you 
could have known, or even have seen him ! I enclose the 
copy of an epitaph I wrote for a very humble tablet, which 
I put up in our church at Highgate ; and also a copy of his 
will, which latter will no doubt interest you deeply ; a copy 
too, of the last thing he wrote, ten days before he breathed 
his last, and when in his bed and suffering greatly. I must 
now, my dear Sir, beg you to accept my cordial regard, and 
to rest assured of the sentiments of esteem with which I 
am Yours, faithfully, 

JAMES GILLMAN. 
To Dr. Marsh. 



SACRED TO THE MEMORY 

OF 

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE; 

POET, PHILOSOPHER, THEOLOGIAN. 



This truly great and good man resided for the last nineteen 
years of his life, 

In this Hamlet; 

He quitted " the body of this death," 

July 25th, 1834, 

In the Sixty Second year of his age. 

Of his profound learning, and his discursive genius, his 

literary works are an imperishable record. 

To his private worth, 

His social and christian virtues, 

James and Ann Gillman, 

The friends with whom he resided, during the above 

period, dedicate this tablet. 

Under the pressure of a long and most painful disease, 

his disposition was unalterably sweet and angelic. 

He was an ever- enduring, ever-loving friend, 

The gentlest and kindest teacher, 

The most engaging home companion. 

" O framed for calmer times, and nobler hearts ! 
O studious poet, eloquent for Truth ! 
Philosopher, contemning wealth and death, 
Yet docile, childlike, full of life and love : 
Here, on this monumental stone, thy friends inscribe thy worth." 

Reader ! for the world, mourn. 

A light has passed away from the earth. 

But for this pious and exalted Christian, rejoice : 

And again I say unto you, rejoice ! 

Ubi 

Thesaurus 

Ibi 

S. T. C. 



156 APPENDIX. 

[Letters from H. N. Coleridge.] 

[i] 

10, Chester Place, (Regents' Park,) London, 

June 2, 1839. 
Dear Sir : — The Bishop of Vermont having kindly 
offered to convey a small parcel to you, I gladly avail my- 
self of the opportunity to beg your acceptance of the third 
and fourth volumes of the Literary Remains of Mr. Cole- 
ridge, published by me, and also a copy of a new edition 
of the Aids to Reflection, in winch you will see that I have 
reprinted your Essay. All Coleridge's works are now 
printed uniformly, except the Biographia, and sold cheap- 
ly ; and I hope to add the B. L. to the number, within a 
twelvemonth. 

With great respect, believe me, 

dear Sir, yours, veiy faithfully, 

HENRY N. COLERIDGE. 



To the Rev. James Marsh. 



12 



April 1, 1840. 
My Dear Sir : — Pray accept my thanks for both your 
letters, which were very interesting to me. The principal 
object of this note, however, is to say that I have never 
seen the New York edition of the Aids to Reflection, to 
which you refer. Mr. Pickering's name is usurped in the 
title page, neither he nor I having any knowledge of the 
publication ; and if it is so used as to induce readers to 
believe that the edition has any peculiar sanction from us 
in England, I think it an unfair transaction. Professor 
McV. I conjecture only to be Prof. McVickar. I do not 
know whether he is the gentleman who used to be known 
to Mr. Southey, and whose son I met in London about a 
year ago. Of the merits of the New York edition, or the 
propriety of the preface, I can of course say nothing in my 
present ignorance, except that I should not agree with any 
denial of your having rendered a great service to the cause 



APPENDIX. 157 

of sound philosophy as involved in the principles taught 
by Mr. Coleridge. My uncle was born and bred, and 
passed all his later life, and died, an affectionate member 
of the church of England ; but the fact of church mem- 
bership would not in and of itself have influenced one of 
his conclusions. He was a member of the church, be- 
cause he believed that he had ascertained by observation 
and experience that it presented the best form of Chris- 
tian communion, having regard to primitive precept and 
practice, social order, and the developement of the indi- 
vidual mind. I am sorry there should be any parties 
among Christ's disciples; though increasing in strength, 
they still need union in their warfare. 

If you should find a fair opportunity, I should be much 
gratified with a copy of your reprint of the Aids. I have 
nothing to send you at present ; but am closely getting 
on, as I find leisure, with an edition of the Biographia 
Literaria, with notes, biographical and others. 

Mr. Green means very shortly to beg your acceptance 
of a copy of his Hunterian Oration, with notes and ap- 
pendices, and another Lecture he is publishing in a vol- 
ume under the title of Vital Dynamics. 

Pray excuse this short note, which I write amidst much 
occupation, wishing you to believe me, my dear sir, 
Yours very faithfully, 

H. N. COLERIDGE. 



[3] 



My Dear Sir : — I trust you will excuse a very few 
lines in acknowledgment of your last letter. And I wish 
to mention, that several months ago, I sent to Mr. C. 
Goodrich a copy of the last edition of the Friend, which, 
from your silence, I almost fear he cannot have received. 
I already possess a copy of Dr. McVickar's edition of the 
Aids. I trust, that you are to be the editor of the new 
edition of the other works. I am going tomorrow morning 



158 APPENDIX, 

for a ramble on the continent ; but hope to get out, soon 
after my return, the little volume of which I believe I 
spoke to you — The Confessions of an Inquiring Spirit 
You are aware that there are editions of all Mr. Coleridge's 
prose works, except the Biographia. With the Friend, 
Mr. Green sent you a copy of his Hunterian Oration. I 
hope both have been received. Mr. Allen sent me all his 
letters, and Dr. McVickar has lately sent me his. The 
Editor seems to me totally unfriendly, not to you only, but 
to Coleridge. 

Believe me, my dear Sir, 

Yours very faithfully, 

H. N. COLERIDGE, 



[From Dr. Green.] 



King's College, London, Feb. 25 r 1839. 

My Dear Sir : — Interested as I am in all that relates 
to the character of my lamented friend Coleridge, and to 
the promulgation of those truths which it was the great 
aim of his life, even at the sacrifice of his worldly inter- 
ests, to establish, — I need not say how much gratification 
I have received in learning from one, so well qualified as 
yourself to give an opinion, that Coleridge's writings are 
appreciated, and that with your aid they are forming for 
themselves a widening circle of admirers in the United 
States. 

In reply to your inquiries respecting his works that re- 
main to be published, I beg to acquaint you, that he has 
left a considerable number of miscellaneous papers, of the 
nature of which you will be enabled to form a judgment 
from the three posthumous volumes entitled, " Literary 
Remains," which have already appeared. No time will 
be lost in putting forth another volume. Much, however, 
will still remain for publication, including a variety of es- 
says and detached observations on subjects of theology, 



APPENDIX. 159 

biblical criticism, logic, natural science, &c, in connection 
with Ins philosophical views. I dare not, however, prom- 
ise any finished work, except a short though highly inter- 
esting one " On the Inspiration of the Scriptures." And 
I may add, that, beyond the design of getting these works 
through the press, and of reprinting those winch are out of 
print, no intention exists at present of publishing an uni- 
form collection of Ins prose writings. 

I presume, however, that your main inquiry relates to 
the work that was expected to contain the full develope- 
ment of his system of philosophy ; but I regret to say that 
this, which would have been the crowning labor of his 
life, was not accomplished ; nor can this unfortunate cir- 
cumstance be a matter of surprise to those who are ac- 
quainted with the continual suffering from disease, winch 
embittered the latter part of this truly great man's life. I 
cannot doubt that the announcement of tins desideratum 
will be no less a disappointment to Coleridge's transatlan- 
tic friends than to his admirers in England ; but to none 
will the disappointment prove more grievous than to my- 
self, as the task of supplying the deficiency devolves, by 
my dear friend's dying request, on my very inadequate 
powers. I am now, however, seriously at work, in the 
humble hope of fulfilling this duty, (as far as my means 
of accomplishing it permit;) and I propose, in the first in- 
stance, to give a succinct and comprehensive statement of 
principles, such as will enable the readers of Coleridge's 
writings to see the connection of the thoughts under the 
guiding light of the unity of the ideas from which they 
flowed. In this attempt to set forth the principles of Mr. 
Coleridge's system, I am not without the hope of estab- 
lishing them as the principles of philosophy itself, and of 
showing that* the various schemes which have been 
framed by the founders of the numerous philosophical 
schools and sects, are not disparates or contraries, but 
merely partial views of one great truth, and necessary 
steps and gradations in the evolution of the human mind 
in its inherent and necessary desire of philosophical truth. 
In closing tins, I trust that I shall be enabled to rescue 



160 APPENDIX. 

the all-important doctrine of ideas from the obloquy and 
scorn, which a narrow and barren pseudo-philosophy of 
the senses has but too well succeeded in throwing upon a 
Method, alone calculated to vitalize and realize human 
speculation, and to give power and dignity to the mind. 
Kay ! I do not despair of reconciling philosophy with re- 
ligion, and of showing that, whilst philosophy must con- 
sent to be her handmaid, religion may derive a reciprocal 
benefit, in the proof that religion is reason as the essential 
form of inward revelation. Whether my ability be equal 
to the task of giving an outward reality in distinct state- 
ment, to Coleridge's high and ennobling speculations, can 
be only known to the God of truth, to whom I pray for 
light and strength, under the almost overwhelming sense 
of the difficulty of doing that which could be adequately 
done only by the Author. 

I remain, my dear Sir, 
Yours, very sincerely, 

JOSEPH HENRY GREEN. 

To Rev. James Marsh. 



[From the same.] 



King's College, London, March 5, 1841. 
My Dear Sir : — "When I contrast the date of this let- 
ter with that of your welcome communication, I am truly 
ashamed of having so long delayed the acknowledgment 
of the great pleasure it afforded me, not only on its own 
account, but as an earnest (which I trust it is) of our bet- 
ter acquaintance, and of the support which we may mutu- 
ally give each other, in the establishment of the philosophy 
of ideas, of which in the present age Coleridge was un- 
questionably the reviver and re-originator. And if the 
" Vital Dynamics," with your approbation of which I am 
highly flattered, should at all contribute to enlist scientific 



APPENDIX. 161 

men in the cause, and to infuse a more vital philosophy 
into science, especially physics, I shall derive the high 
gratification of having been one of the instruments, under 
Providence, of promulgating the truths of a spiritual phi- 
losophy, and of rescuing the pursuits of noble minds from 
the taint of errors, winch I fear are too apt to arise under 
the dominant influence, hitherto prevalent in physics, of 
a philosophy, the tendency of which is assuredly to place 
all reality in sensuous intuition, consequently to withdraw 
the mind injuriously from supersensuous truths, and in 
confounding faith with belief, to substitute conjecture, 
probability, and the subjective condition of the believers 
mind, for the proper evidence of the great truths upon 
which the whole moral life of man is based. We may, 
indeed, discern an order of Providence in the develope- 
ment of physical science ; and we can scarcely doubt that 
it could not have advanced, in connexion with the imper- 
fect nature of the human mind, which sees only in part, ex- 
cept under the condition of a too exclusive attention to the 
senses, and to the forms of sense, winch it mainly owed to 
Descartes and Gassendi ; whilst we camiot but admit that 
physical science and natural knowledge are important ele- 
ments in the cultivation of man, both as it respects the de- 
velopement of his intellect and the creation of the means 
and instruments of civilization and of a common participa- 
tion by the whole race in the blessings granted to any 
one more favored portion. We have indeed learned a bet- 
ter creed than that derived from a sensuous philosophy, 
which mistakes means for ends ; and viewing the acquisi- 
tions of science in relation to the moral man, of whom the 
intellect is after all but a fragment, we press onwards to 
the goal, at winch the intellect, with its noblest product, 
science, is still to be subordinated to the moral will in that 
moral life of the whole man, head and heart, in wliich 
philosophy even must await its final and complete vivifi- 
cation. I fear that you estimate too highly the labors of 
the English so called natural philosophers, and I should 
hesitate to ascribe to them generally a higher merit than 
the talent of generalization ; at all events, the perception 
21 



162 APPENDIX. 

of law in the spirit of a true dynamic philosophy has 
scarcely more than dawned upon some few of my coun- 
trymen ; and had I not been prompted by a deep sense of 
the momentous nature of the truths which I have endeav- 
ored to inculcate in my oration, I should hardly have ven- 
tured with those auditors and readers, to whom it was 
addressed, to cast my bread upon the waters. Should you 
think that an advantageous impression might be made by 
its publication on your side of the water, I pray you to 
dispose of it as you may see fit ; and well convinced I am 
that a preface from your pen would incalculably aid its 
effect both there and in this country. 

There is, however, one passage in your letter, which has 
excited an apprehension in my mind that I may have been 
misunderstood, and that in respect of the relation of God 
to nature you may be disposed to infer that my doctrines 
are tainted by the erroneous tendency of Schelling's phi- 
losophy to Pantheism ; for that such is its tendency, not- 
withstanding his declaimer, I cannot doubt. Now if there 
was any one point, on which above all others Coleridge 
manifested the utmost anxiety, it was that of preventing 
the possibility of confounding God with nature ; and per- 
haps no better evidence can be offered than the formula, 
which he was frequently in the habit of repeating : World 
— God — : God — world = Reality absolute ; the world 
without God is nothing, God without the world is already, 
in and of himself, absolute perfection, absolute reality. 
And this doctrine of genuine Theism he has most nobly 
vindicated, in its inalienable connection with the doctrine 
of the Trinity as it is set forth in the Nicene Creed, by 
establishing as a truth of reason the Personality of God ; 
a doctrine which is the very foundation of moral truth, as it 
is the dominant principle of Coleridge's system, but to 
which Schelling's philosophy is inadequate ; and I do not 
think that I am asserting too much in saying that its inad- 
equacy to the attainment of the idea is virtually confessed 
in its utter improgressiveness after a certain period long 

tnadec uacy whi n 1 as 






APPENDIX. 163 

probably prevented Schelling's long promised completion 
of his philosophy in a systematic form. 

I send you herewith a small brochure, just published, on 
a subject which now is agitating the medical profession in 
this country ; and though you can take no part in its par- 
ticular object, yet I have thought that its general scope and 
design might not be unacceptable to you, and that it might 
interest you as a specimen of reasoning by ideas. It will 
at least show that I am not idle, though drawn off for a 
time from what I must ever consider as the main business 
of the remainder of my life, — the exposition, in a systemat- 
ic form, of the philosophy of my great and excellent 
teacher. 

With my fervent wishes for your welfare, and my sin- 
cere prayers for the continuance of your successful labors 
in the cause of truth, 

Believe me, my dear Sir, 

Yours ever very sincerely, 

JOSEPH HENRY GREEN. 

To the Rev. James Marsh. 



REMAINS, 



24 



LETTER TO AN ADVANCED STUDENT. 



A FRAGMENT. 



OUTLINES OF A SYSTEMATIC ARRANGEMENT OF THE DE- 
PARTMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE, WITH A VIEW TO THEIR 
ORGANIC RELATIONS TO EACH OTHER IN A GENERAL SYS- 
TEM. 



I promised to comply with your request in re- 
gard to a course of study, and though I have so 
unreasonably delayed to fulfil my engagement, I 
have not forgotten it. What I wished was to fur- 
nish such a sketch as, by its distinction and 
arrangement of the departments of knowledge, 
should enable you to view them in their proper 
relations, and so that the preceding should, at 
each step, prepare you the better and more ade- 
quately to understand the succeeding. After you 
left me, instead of completing, as perhaps I should 
have done, what I first projected, I was led to aim 
at a more enlarged plan, and at exhibiting the 
reasons of the method which I adopted. This, 
however, I have found to involve questions and 
discussions of a nature incompatible with the pre- 
sent purpose, and must content myself with mere- 



188 OUTLINE OF A 

ly distinguishing and arranging with a view to 
practical results. The reasons which justify the 
method adopted, or lead to a better one, I must 
leave to your own more mature reflections. In 
many cases, I might, perhaps, have found as many 
reasons for a different order, as for that which I 
have adopted ; and should I wait to settle all the 
questions that arise, my promise to you would 
probably never be performed. The distinctions 
made, and the objects of knowledge embraced in 
the different divisions, will be in some more and 
in some less important, as applied to existing sci- 
ences and the present state of our knowledge. I 
have aimed only to mark in succession, with more 
or less minuteness, objects of contemplation that 
seem distinguishable in thought, and deserving, 
from their connexion and relation, of separate and 
distinct attention. For the same purpose of 
avoiding perplexing questions, I have not attempt- 
ed to group the divisions which I have made 
under more general heads, but have simply ar- 
ranged them in an unbroken series. 

1. Space. By space, as a distinct object of 
thought, I mean that in which all the outward 
objects of sense and sensuous representation are 
necessarily placed. If we analyze the form under 
which it presents itself to our thoughts, we must 
distinguish it into absolute and relative space. 
Absolute space is that in which all relative spaces 
and finite determinations of space are contained, 
and which, in the imaginary construction of these, 



PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 189 

is always necessarily presupposed as the condition 
of their possibility. It is that in relation to our 
outward beholding, which, beyond every excursion 
of the imagination, still presents itself as a contin- 
uous extension, comprehending all forms and limi- 
tations, itself uncomprehended by any. Again, it 
is necessarily pre-supposed in order to the con- 
ceivability of motion, and to it all actual motion is 
ultimately referred, as that in which it took place, 
while it is itself necessarily conceived as fixed and 
immovable. It is moreover conceived as a unity, 
in which all distinguishable and finite spaces are 
included as parts. It is one continuous expansion, 
in which there may be imaginary limitations, but 
no separation of parts, and in which all imaginary 
divisions are co-existent and unchangeable in their 
relations to each other. 

Relative space is any imaginary or real determi- 
nation of limits in space, conceived as fixed, in the 
relation of its parts to each other, but moveable, 
in its relation to absolute space. A geometrical 
sphere of a given radius, or the orbit of the earth, 
is, in itself, the same space, whether at rest or 
in motion, and may therefore be conceived as 
moving in absolute space. It is to relative space 
that all determinations of place have reference ; 
while with reference to absolute space neither 
place nor direction of motion is determinable. 
Thus a particular continent has its place on the 
earth, the earth and its orbit its place in the solar 
system, and this again its place, and perhaps di- 
rection of motion, among the fixed stars ; but if 



190 OUTLINE OF A 

we ask for the place and motion of the material 
universe in reference to absolute space, the ques- 
tion admits of no possible or conceivable answer. 

2. Time. By time, I mean that to which we 
ascribe the relations of past, present and future, 
and in which we represent all events pertaining 
both to our outward and inward experience as 
taking place. Events occurring in time we con- 
ceive as simultaneous or successive, while the dis- 
tinguishable portions of time itself are necessarily 
represented as successive only, in an unbroken, 
unending series. Time is necessarily pre-suppos- 
ed, in order to the possible conception of that 
which occurs in time ; and all distinguishable and 
finite periods of time are included as parts of one 
infinite succession. In making the distinction 
here between relative and absolute, the latter 
term seems obviously not applicable to time, but 
the distinction is designated by the word eternity. 
When we represent time as a flowing quantity 
under the form of distinguishable periods, succeed- 
ing each other, we refer it to eternity as the abso- 
lute, in which all succession is lost, in the same 
manner as we refer relative space, conceived as in 
motion, to absolute space in which it moves, and 
in which, as the fixed and immovable, its motion 
is described. That the mind makes such a dis- 
tinction between time and eternity, any one, it 
would seem, might be satisfied by the conscious- 
ness that we cannot, without obvious incongruity, 
apply to our idea of God the necessary relations of 



PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 191 

time, nor conceive him to be older now, than he 
was in the beginning of the creation. The same 
may be said of our ideas of all immutable and ab- 
solute truths, as transcending the relations of time. 
It is necessary here to conceive time, only as the 
necessary antecedent form and condition of all 
that is presentable in our experience as taking 
place, whether in the sphere of the outer senses, 
or of our inward consciousness. It is, no less than 
space, necessarily pre-supposed or involved in the 
conception of local motion, and of all changes in 
the outer world ; and is, moreover, inseparable 
from the conscious changes, which take place in 
the agencies aud states of our inward being, to 
which the relations of space do not belong. 

Thus space and time are related to whatever 
else is knowable in our experience, as the neces- 
sary a priori forms and conditions under which it 
is presented to our observation. The form in 
which we present them to ourselves is not learned 
from experience ; but all experience, and all exist- 
ence of objects pertaining to our experience, pre- 
suppose these. We may conceive the removal 
and non-existence of whatever we represent as 
existent in space and time, but space and time 
remain, and cannot be conceived not to do so.* 

3. We have seen that space and time, with 

* See, on the subjects of space and time, Kant's Kritik der r. 
Vernunft, erster Theil. Newton's Principia, Def. 8. Scholium. 
and KanVs Naturwissenschaft. What they are in themselves, in 
relation to real being, this is not the place to consider. 



192 OUTLINE OF A 

the negation of reality existing in them, or pure 
space and time, are necessary presentations, the 
negation of which is impossible. Space expands 
itself into a boundless inane ; and time runs on in 
endless succession, in which nothing succeeds to 
nothing. These so presented, as the intuitions 
of pure sense (in distinction from empirical sense, 
or sense as affected by sensuous phenomena pre- 
sent in space and time) constitute the sphere of 
possibility and of those possible determinations of 
quantity and figure which are the object of pure 
mathematical science. Whatever may be postu- 
lated as possible, and representable to the pure 
sense as determinate under the forms and rela- 
tions of space and time, is properly included as 
an object of mathematical intuition. The free 
and productive imagination, unrestrained by the 
conditions of actual existence and the limits of 
experience, here generates and combines for it- 
self all possible and conceivable forms, peopling 
the void with its own ideal creations. The law 
of spontaneity in the creative imagination itself 
is the determinant of its agencies, and the lines, 
surfaces, and solids, rectilinear, curvilinear, &c. 
of the geometrician are the records and products 
of its action. These, in their endless variety, are 
the data of the mathematician, and regarded as 
fixed and determinate objects of contemplation. 
As their essence consists in their determinate form, 
generated by the imagination, and exhibited to the 
pure sense, they admit of perfect scientific insight 
and are the objects of pure intuitive science* 



PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 193 

We may distinguish here (1st) geometry, as the 
science of pure space, or of delineations in space 
as the objects of pure sense. Its distinctive 
character arises from the threefold dimensions of 
space, and the freedom of the imagination in gen- 
erating forms in space by the geometrical motion 
of their boundaries : (2nd) the science of time, or 
chronometry, the arithmetical numeration of suc- 
cessive distinguishable moments, in a single line 
of succession, which is the common character of 
time and of arithmetic. It is, however, obvious, 
that arithmetic is not limited to time in its appli- 
cation, but extends to quantity universally ; as do 
also the more general methods of algebra and 
fluxions : (3rd) the principle of order or syntacti- 
cal arrangement, having reference to the possible 
changes which the imagination may make at will 
in the arrangement of given elements ; the doc- 
trine of permutations and combinations. 

It is important to be observed here, in refer- 
ence to the nature of pure mathematical science 
generally, and to the place which I have assigned 
it, that it is strictly a priori, and independent of 
all facts of experience. Even the idea of motion, 
as an idea, and pertaining to the acts of the im- 
agination, is inseparable from the representation 
of extension, and the postulates of geometry 
necessarily involve it. All the constructions of 
pure mathematics require only space and time, and 
the free outgoing of the productive imagination. 
It is thus that the forms of possible existence and 
action are produced and contemplated in anticipa- 
25 



194 OUTLINE OF A 

tion, as it were, and as the antecedent determi- 
nants of the actual in space and time. 

It is, again, no less true, and important to be 
observed here, that these pure and a priori scien- 
ces are the necessary antecedent condition of all 
our scientific knowledge of the actual phenomena 
of nature as given in our experience. They fur- 
nish the intelligible principles and forms, under 
which the phenomenal forms of nature are contem- 
plated and determined, and by which a scientific 
insight is attained into the laws of nature. 

It will of course be understood, that I aim at 
present to characterize the pure mathematical 
sciences only in a very general way, and with a 
view to their place and relations in a systematic 
arrangement of the different departments of 
knowledge. For an enlarged view T of their philo- 
sophical nature and relations, see Fries' Mathema- 
tische Naturphilosophie, erster Theil, and his 
System der Logik, ^ 16. HerschelPs Discourse 
on Nat. PhiL, chap. 2. 

4. Besides the a priori truths of mathema- 
tics, certain principles are determinable independ- 
ently of experience, or at least as necessary prin- 
ciples in regard to the existence, in space and 
time, of that which is the possible object of expe- 
rience and of knowledge for us. These princi- 
ples have been termed metaphysical principles of 
Natural Philosophy. The clearest exposition of 
what is here intended as a distinguishable depart- 
ment of knowledge, will be a brief statement of 



PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 195 

its general heads as treated by Kant and Fries, the 
only authors who, so far as I know, have distinct- 
ly treated the subject in the form adapted to this 
connexion. Kant distinguishes, 1st, the principles 
of Phoronomy, or the necessary laws of motion, as 
pertaining to that which exists and is moveable in 
space : 2d, the principles of Dynamics, or of those 
powers by which matter manifests itself as a 
space-filling substance, and the necessary condi- 
tions of such in order to their possible actuation in 
space : 3d, the principles of mechanical action, as 
treated in mechanical philosophy ; and 4th, Phe- 
nomenology, or the conditions under which mat- 
ter, as existing in space, and moving in it, exhibits 
itself to us. 

To these four divisions Fries has added Stcechi- 
ology, or the principles of affecting the possible 
modes of aggregation among the smallest parts 
(gtoi%£iu) of matter, as in solids, fluids, gases, &c. ; 
and Morphology, or the laws of form necessarily 
pertaining to that which is extended in space, and 
their possible determinations. 

It is in this treatise, that Kant has controverted, 
and, as it is generally admitted, confuted the 
atomic and mechanical systems of Natural Philos- 
phy ; while he has exhibited briefly the principles 
of the Dynamic theory. The purpose of this is to 
show, that the phenomena of the material world 
must ultimately be referred, in our endeavors to 
form a conception of their grounds, to the agency 
of powers, acting according to fixed and determi- 
nate laws. To attain a constituent idea of those 



196 OUTLINES OF A 

living powers of nature, and an intellectual insight 
into the laws of their action, is then the ultimate 
purpose of Natural Philosophy. The principles 
in question in this division, and exhibited in the 
treatises referred to, pertain to the necessary laws 
of intelligence, or to the conditions of our know- 
ing, as well as to the conditions of the knowable 
in space and time. They consequently imply a 
relation between the two, and that the objective 
or material is capable of being contemplated under 
the intelligible forms or ideas of the subjective in- 
telligence. This relation, however, it is not to 
my purpose to consider here ; and the method of 
arrangement which I have adopted, requires only 
the contemplation of the principles referred to, as 
conditions of scientific knowledge in regard to the 
world of sense. They are a priori and necessary 
principles ; yet differ from pure mathematics, in 
that they assume the existence of matter as that 
which is moveable in space, as that which fills 
space, &c, and is the object of a possible knowl- 
edge from experience. Assuming this as actual, 
they aim to render intelligible the possibility of it, 
or what it must be in regard to its properties as a 
moveable and space-filling substance, if it be con- 
ceivable and knowable at all by us. Thus they 
represent matter, not as composed of ultimate 
atoms forming perfect solids, and so furnishing 
the ground of a mechanical explanation of its 
phenomena, but as resolvable into ultimate pow- 
ers, which belong to all matter as such. Attrac- 
tion and repulsion, as correlative and counteract- 



PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 197 

ing forces, are ultimate constituents of matter, and 
therefore universal. They are necessary to the 
conceivability of matter as a space-filling sub- 
stance ; and nothing higher than these, in the re- 
lation of a physical ground, can be conceived as 
the object of physical science. In transcending 
these, we transcend nature, and find their ground 
in the supernatural, which is not the object of 
science. 

In these universal powers of matter, therefore, 
and the other general laws exhibited in the trea- 
tises referred to, I find the point of transition from 
the pure a priori sciences, and the objects of pure 
sense, to the world of experience, and to those 
powers and agencies of nature, which manifest 
themselves in the phenomena of empirical sense.* 

5. In passing to those departments of knowl- 
edge which immediately concern the objects of 
our experience, or the actual in space and time, I 
shall endeavor to direct the attention simply, at 
each step, to that which may be regarded as the 
true object of science — I mean the distinguishable 
powers of nature and their several laws of action. 
There is, indeed, a necessary distinction to be 
made here between phenomena and those intelli- 
gible agencies which reveal themselves in and 
through these ; but it is unnecessary for my present 



* See on this subject KanVs Naturwissenschaft, and his Gedank- 
en von der wahren Schatzung der lebendigen Kraefte. Vermischte 
Schriften, Vol. I. Fries Math. Naturphilosophie. 2 ter. Theil, and 
Kanfs Reine Vernunft. & 197—293. 



198 OUTLINES OF A 

purpose to class the phenomena, as a distinct ob- 
ject of knowledge, and under distinct heads. This 
will be done sufficiently in designating those 
powers to which the various classes of phenomena 
are to be referred, and in their relation to- which 
their only scientific value consists. Thus the 
phenomena of gravitation are contemplated by the 
natural philosopher only as indices of that power, 
and of its law of action ; and with the clear intui- 
tion of these, as the proper object of intelligence 
and scientific insight, the phenomena of sense 
cease to be regarded as having an independent in- 
terest. We cannot, indeed, in the existing state 
of science, understand all the phenomena of the 
world of sense, and refer them to an intelligible 
law of action from which they result ; but there is 
yet a striving after and anticipation of the law, 
and every system of arrangement must have refer- 
ence to the knowledge already attained. 

From the view already taken of those depart- 
ments of science, which are necessarily antecedent 
to that of the world of sense and experience, and 
from the method adopted of distinguishing and 
arranging the distinguishable powers of nature, as 
the proper objects of knowledge, the first in order 
here will naturally be those universal powers, 
which manifest themselves in space as co-exten- 
sive with the material universe, and which have 
already been mentioned as inseparable from our 
conception of matter as such. These are attrac- 
tion and repulsion, or the universal principle of 
gravitation, and that inherent power by which any 



PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 199 

quantity of matter occupies a given space, or re- 
pels and excludes from it other portions of matter. 
In any given mass of matter occupying a determi- 
nate space, these powers are conceived as being 
in equilibrio ; and the space filled with a certain 
degree of intensity. Hence, without regard to 
the superadded agencies, by which different kinds 
of matter are distinguished, in the relation of their 
parts, as solid, fluid, aeriform, elastic or inelastic, 
&c, from the equilibrium of its inherent powers, 
as matter and a space-filling substance, it remains 
at rest in itself, and is only moved from without. 
The intensity with which it fills space, and the 
energy with which it tends to maintain its exist- 
ing state of rest or motion, are the basis of its 
motive force, without w 7 hich velocity, however 
multiplied, would be a multiplier of zero. These 
are the ground of the so-called vis inertice, and in 
connexion with these, the powers above designa- 
ted, and their laws of action, as applied to all those 
phenomena in which masses of matter act upon 
each other, either in motion or at rest, are the 
proper objects of that wide field of science, em- 
braced in mechanical philosophy in the most ex- 
tensive sense of that term, at least in its applica- 
tion to the agencies of inorganic nature. I shall 
not, however, aim at great precision, or at making 
nice distinctions here, in regard to the division of 
those sciences, in which the pure mathematics are 
applied to inorganic matter, considered as acting 
in masses, and as it is acted upon from without. 
So long as it is uninfluenced by powers affecting 



200 OUTLINES OF A 

the inherent form and relation of its parts, the 
phenomena which it exhibits in the change of its 
outward relations in space, are included in the 
general term mechanical ; and so far as concerns 
permanent natural agencies, are ultimately refer- 
able to those here spoken of. Where other me- 
chanical agencies are exerted, they are still con- 
ditioned by these, and the law is still the same, 
when once the force and direction of the moving 
power are determined. It is unnecessary here to 
specify the different kinds of machinery or the 
mechanical forces, other than the universal powers 
of matter, such as that of steam, &c, since the 
general principles of science, which apply to them 
as moving powers, are the same. The general 
laws of motion, I regard as included under the pre- 
vious head ; and magnetism, whatever connection 
it may have with the powers already named, and 
however it may in some respects act mechanical- 
ly, is now regarded as connected more essentially 
with agencies of another kind. 

Looking at the subject, then, in a somewhat 
different aspect, we contemplate here, as next in 
order to the sciences of pure space and time, the 
agency of two living powers, manifesting them- 
selves to our outward sense under the relations of 
extension and form in space, and having their law 
of action determinable by the application of those 
pure sciences, which arise from the contemplation 
of space and time alone, as objects of pure sense. 
Considered in reference to material substance, or 
matter in itself and its properties as a space-filling 



PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 201 

substance, we may regard them, in the equilibrium 
of their counteracting forces, as universal, or ne- 
cessarily pertaining to all matter as such, and, in 
relation to our experience, its ultimate constituents. 
Considered in reference to bodies or determinate 
masses of matter, we contemplate them, not as 
they are united, and neutralize each other in each 
corpuscle, but as they manifest themselves separ- 
ately in the action of masses upon each other. It 
is in this latter relation, that they are the cause of 
mechanical phenomena, and their laws of action, 
the object of mechanical science, whether applied 
to solid, fluid, or gaseous bodies. Here, the 
masses or portions of matter, whether great or 
small, in which they become phenomenal, are re- 
garded as acting mechanically and outwardly upon 
each other, with a motive force resulting from the 
quantity, velocity, Sec. of each mass, considered as 
a whole, and acting out of itself upon another 
mass. Thus, in relation to mechanics, matter is 
considered only as it acts in mass and out of itself , 
or as composed of parts extended in space, and 
like those of space itself mutually exclusive of each 
other, without reference to the inward being and 
essential ground of its properties, whereby it thus 
occupies and acts in space. In its mechanical 
character and relations, it has no inward ; but out- 
icardness of action and of parts in space is an 
essential property, and presupposed in the consid- 
eration of attraction and repulsion as mechanical 
forces. So again, in the application of these as 
mechanical forces to the different modifications of 
26 



202 OUTLINES OF A 

material masses, under the divisions of solid, fluid 
and aeriform, elastic, and unelastic, &c. ; these 
modifications are assumed according to given de- 
finitions having reference to their peculiarities of 
mechanical action, and not to the inward ground 
of these modifications. 

On the other hand, when attraction and repul- 
sion are contemplated as united, and counteracting 
each other in each corpuscle, they are referred to 
the inward being of matter, as the universal and 
dynamic constituents which pertain to all matter 
as such, and form the basis or antecedent condi- 
tion of those other powers, whereby different 
bodies are modified and distinguished from each 
other, and which manifest themselves in these 
modifications. In this point of view, they concern 
the subjective form of each mass in itself; while, 
as mechanical forces, they affect the objective re- 
lations of masses to each other in space. Regard- 
ed as subjective, or among the inward powers that 
reveal themselves in the phenomena of nature, 
they are more easily intelligible, and their law of 
action is more obvious to our conceptions than any 
other. Their agency is manifested to our experi- 
ence in the spherical form of all bodies, when left 
free to the agency of their inherent pow T ers, and 
when their parts are so moveable among them- 
selves, as to permit them to obey these laws. It 
is important to remark, too, that these powers, as 
the constituents of matter, as well as in their 
more properly mechanical relations, are conceived 
as acting with a determinate relation to space, and 



PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 203 

necessarily occupying space, in a manner repre- 
sentable to the pure sense, and determinable, as 
to its extension and form, by mathematical princi- 
ples. But the treatises of Kant and Fries already 
referred to will direct to the right distinctions and 
limitations here, and I need not dwell longer on 
this point. 

The field of science, embraced in the applica- 
tion of pure mathematics to the agency of mechan- 
ical powers, as conditioned by solid, fluid and 
aeriform bodies, whether in motion or at rest, is of 
course sufficiently vast, and more cultivated,, be- 
cause more accessible, and the conditions of a 
scientific knowledge of its phenomena more 
within our power, than is the case in regard to 
the more complex agencies of nature. The laws 
of action that determine the forms and motions of 
the heavenly bodies, and so of mechanical phe- 
nomena under any given conditions, are extremely 
simple, compared with those from which the sim- 
plest forms of organic life result, and it might be 
expected that science would there gain its first 
trophies. 

I need not refer to authors under this general 
head, though with a view to its systematic rela- 
tions I refer again to those mentioned under the 
last head, and to Kantfs Himmels System in his 
Vermischte Schriften, vol. 1, s. 283; a part of 
which, at least, may be read with profit. The 
French and English works on all parts of this 
general subject are easily found. 



204 OUTLINES OF A 

6. The agencies of nature which seem on the 
whole next in order for scientific consideration, 
are those of Light and Heat. In their relation to 
space, and their laws of radiation, reflection and 
refraction, they have, indeed, a near affinity to 
those already considered, and their phenomena are 
equally determinable by pure mathematics. On 
this account, they are classed by some with solid, 
fluid and gaseous bodies, as a fourth division, un- 
der the name of radiant matter, and with the sci- 
ence of optics as a division of mechanics. But 
whatever may be found true in regard either to 
the mechanical or chemical relations of these 
agencies, there seems to be sufficient reason, in 
the present state of science, and with reference to 
the present purpose, to contemplate them distinct- 
ly and separately and their laws of action as ob- 
jects of a distinct department of science. Even 
though they may be identified with electrical 
agencies, they yet exhibit their peculiar phenom- 
ena governed by distinguishable laws, and these 
capable of scientific determination. With refer- 
ence to our knowledge, and their subjectivity as 
agencies of material nature, they may be regarded 
as intermediate between the original and univer- 
sal powers of attraction and repulsion, and those 
which are more exclusively exhibited in chemical 
phenomena. They are obviously connected with 
the inward pow T ers by which the distinctive forms 
of matter are modified, and reveal themselves from 
within, either as independent and distinguishable 
powers, or as determinate phenomena of those to 



PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 205 

which all properly chemical agencies seem at pre- 
sent likely to be referred.* 

7. These powers, which seem to have so ex- 
tensive and varied an agency in producing the 
phenomena of nature, are the two polar forces of 
electricity, the positive and negative, or the acid 
and alkaline agencies, as they manifest themselves 
in the electric, galvanic, magnetic, and more pro- 
perly chemical phenomena. The identity of all 
these seems to be now admitted ; and if we regard 
heat and light as products of the same agency, a 
great apparent anomaly will be removed, and we 
shall have two correlative living forces, or more 
properly speaking, one poiver, resolving itself into 
two polar forces, with a tendency to re-union, and 
producing all these varied phenomena. Regarded 
in this light, it is the great subjective power, 
whose agency constitutes the inward life of nature, 
I mean inorganic nature, controlling in its various 
modes of action the chemical affinities and elemen- 
tary combinations of matter, as the powers of 
attraction and repulsion in their mechanical action 
do the relation of bodies to each other. 

But although there are no longer supposed to be 
several distinct powers, from which the phenom- 



* See on this subject, besides the standard works on Optics 
and Chemistry, the Encyclopedia Metropolitan^ article Heat and 
Light, the Treatises of Brewster and Young, and Oersted's Identity 
des forces chimiques et electriques. In this last work, both Heat and 
Light are exhibited as the products of two correlative powers, 
which also manifest their agency in all chemical affinities, and, 
as is afterwards more fully proved by the same author, in the phe- 
nomena of magnetism. 



206 OUTLINES OF A 

ena of electricity, magnetism, and chemical affin- 
ity result, but all are referred to the agency of one 
primordial power varied according to the different 
relations and circumstances in which it acts, yet 
these classes of phenomena have still their several 
peculiarities, and may be, to some extent, separ- 
ately considered. * * * 

8. Next, we may contemplate the dawn of an 
individualizing and formative power in the crystal- 
ization of homogeneous substances, the Bildungs- 
kraft of Blumenbach, the power which, without 
internal and organic action, determines the ar- 
rangement of parts by external apposition of pre- 
existing homogeneous matter, and thereby con- 
structs in each after its kind a specific geometrical 
form. Read the Introduction to Mohs' Mineralogy. 

Then follow the powers of organic life, where, in 
the relation of the subjective power of life to its 
correlative object, instead of an equilibrium of coun- 
teracting forces and consequent rest, there is a 
predominance of the subjective and a living process 
by which the principle of life subordinates its cor- 
relatives and assimilates heterogeneous elements to 
the developement of its own organic form, and to 
the attainment of its own pre-determined end. 
This subjective pre-determination of the specific 
form and of the assimilative and formative process 
by which its organic structure is unfolded and its 
proper end realized, is the Bildungstreib — Nisus 
formativus — of Blumenbach, and pertains to each 
individualized principle of life relatively to its indi- 



PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 207 

vidual end. As distinguishable powers in the de- 
velopement of organic nature, we may consider 

(a) Productivity, or the simple power of assimila- 
tion, nutrition and growth ; the production, in each 
individual, of its own form, and the developement of 
its organs by subordinating the outward elements 
to its use. Here observe, 1st., the unity of the 
subjective principle of action ; 2nd, the immediate 
relation of action and reaction between this and 
its outward correlatives ; 3rd, the conditioning of 
the actuation of the subjective power by the pres- 
ence and the correlative nature of the objective ; 
yet, 4th, the predominance of the subjective and 
the subordination of the objective as means to its 
prescribed end. This is the sphere of vegetable 
life, and exhibits the dawning of a subjective indi- 
vidualized power, having a unity in itself, and in 
its manifold agencies working harmoniously for the 
attainment of an end, which end is determined, 
not by external agencies, but subjectively, in the 
inherent law of working, which predetermines the 
form and measure of its outward developement. 

(b) Irritability, the power of acting upon out- 
ward objects, excitable by specific outward stimu- 
lants, as in the apathic animalculae of Lamarck, 
the nervimotility of Du Trochet, the muscular 
fibre, the organic action of different organs, the 
heart, lungs, &c.,- and the nerves of motion in the 
animal system generally. Observe here, that in 
the animal organism, this power intervenes as it 
were between the proper functions of organic life, 
assimilation, nutrition, &c, and the outward cor- 



208 OUTLINES OF A 

relative objects, by which the organic life is to be 
sustained. In the plant, the organs of nutrition 
are in immediate contact with the nutritive ele- 
ments, its subjectivity is comparatively superficial, 
and its organic apparatus more simple. In the 
animal there is a higher subjectivity ; the antithet- 
ical relation of the subjective principle of life to its 
correlative objects, by means of which its organic 
ends are to be attained, is more distinct ; and the 
conflict is maintained by the aid of an intermedi- 
ary apparatus of organs, to which the specific 
character of irritability and of outward organic re- 
action pertains. I speak here of simple organic 
irritability and specific reaction, determined by the 
subjective law of action in the organ where sensi- 
bility is still latent, 

(c) Sensibility, a still higher or more central 
developement of the subjective and a still super- 
added medium enlarging the sphere of its active 
relations to a correlative objective. Here is not 
only a subjective power that needs its correlative 
object as the means of objectizing its own form and 
realizing its own end, but such a developement of 
that power as constitutes an inward finding (Ger- 
manice Empfindung) of its need, a feeling of its re- 
lation to its object, a sense of pain in the want of 
it and of satisfaction in its attainment. Simultane- 
ous with this developement of the subjective sense 
of organic want and craving of a correlative object, 
is the developement of the outward organs of 
sense and the sensuous presentation of the outward 
objects of sense among which the animal is to 



PHILOSOPHICAL ARRANGEMENT, ETC. 209 

seek its appropriate objects and strive after the 
realization of its organic end. When the animal 
feels a hungering and thirsting after food, the 
senses direct to the selection and attainment of it 
in the outer world of sense. Where sensibility is 
thus unfolded, the irritability of the system is of 
course connected with it, and the muscular organs 
are excited to act upon their proper objects, 
through the medium of the inward and outward 
sensations. Here observe how the nerves of the 
ganglionic and sympathetic systems connected 
with the function of nutrition, the nerves of the 
outward senses, and the nerves of motion are 
united in a common centre, and give unity and 
synergy to the whole organism. Remark how in 
the insect, the organs pertaining to these three dis- 
tinguishable powers are divided into as many dis- 
tinct sections, while yet in some form the several 
powers are present and act each in all and all in 
each. Observe how, in the progressive develope- 
ment of powers, the subjectivity of life increases, 
the sphere of its relations to the outer world is en- 
larged, its contraposition and conflict with the out- 
ward elements become more distinct, and the 
means of appropriating these for the attainment of 
its organic end more numerous and complicated. 
See how, in relation to this end, the irritability and 
sensibility, the muscular and nervous systems, the 
sensuous apprehension, the muscular prehension, 
and the process of digestion with its complex ap- 
paratus, are all in order and subordinate to nutri- 
tion, while nutrition, on the other hand, serves but 
27 



210 OUTLINE. 

to develope these various organs and maintain their 
several functions. Observe, in a word, how first, the 
principle of life in all these distinguishable powers 
and functions is placed in the relation of antithesis 
to the outward and material elements, how it over- 
comes and subordinates these, appropriating, trans- 
forming and assimilating, so as to make them the 
bearer of its own form, the plastic material in 
which it bodies forth and objectizes its own sub- 
jective and inward being, seeking as its end the 
perfect developement of its form, the realization of 
its own idea. Observe how, secondly, in the re- 
lation of the distinguishable powers, organs and 
functions to each other, w r e are constrained to ad- 
mit the apparent paradox that these, throughout 
the organic system, are reciprocally means and 
ends, each subservient to all and all to each, and 
the result of their combined and harmonious ac- 
tion, the full and symmetrical developement and 
maintenance of the whole organism, in the unity 
and integrity of all its parts. Observe again, how 
thirdly, we are constrained, in endeavoring to form 
a conception of the one principle of life, which 
thus organizes itself in the harmonious develope- 
ment of its manifold organs and functions, to re- 
present it to ourselves as a power that, in relation 
to its organism, is all in every part, interpenetrating 
all its organs in the totality of its vital energy, 
working in all towards the same end, limiting the 
measure and adapting the form of each of its dis- 
tinguishable agencies to every other, and thus 
effecting the unity of the whole in the manifoldness 
of the parts. 



V 



REMARKS 



ON SOME OF 



THE LEADING POINTS CONNECTED WITH PHYSIOLOGY. 



In Physiology, as in all other departments of 
knowledge, we must distinguish between phe- 
nomena or appearances and that to which the 
phenomena are referred as their proper cause. This 
distinction we make instinctively and necessarily. 
We inquire in every case what determines the 
phenomena to be what they are, and refer them to 
that which is not itself phenomenal, as their ground. 

True, we have given, in the external object of 
knowledge, no other means of learning what is the 
ground of the phenomena, but the phenomena 
themselves. They are the condition of our knowl- 
edge ; yet knowledge or science in its strict sense 
does not terminate on these, as its proper object. 
There is properly no science of phenomena — But 
in and through the phenomena we instinctively seek 
a knowledge of that which produces the phenomena, 
and whose being and mode of action is revealed, 
manifested to us by these. Phenomena are fleet- 
ing and evanescent, we seek that which is fixed 



212 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

and unchanging, as the true and only possible ob- 
ject of unchanging and scientific knowledge. 

This correlative object of science then, is every- 
where the power or living energy, from the agency 
of which the phenomena result, or which is con- 
templated as the ground of these — or to be more 
precise, it is the law of its action, as capable of 
being discerned in the fleeting phenomena which 
it produces, that science seeks to determine ; it 
being necessarily assumed, that each distinguish- 
able power acts uniformly, according to a deter- 
minate law of working. 

The question for the scientific naturalist then is 
always, what power, and acting according to what 
law, do the phenomena require us to assume, as 
the abiding ground of the phenomena, and in order 
to account for them. This view, it will be seen, 
obviously pre-supposes the most accurate observa- 
tion and discriminating analysis of the phenomena, 
or, as they are called, facts, in every case, as the 
necessary condition of our knowledge. Yet the in- 
terest with which this observation is conducted, 
depends on the instinctive striving of the mind to 
apprehend that which lies beyond the sphere of 
sense, and to refer phenomena to an intelligible 
and abiding law of action. How soon, w r hen this 
intellectual impulse is not awakened, do the most 
novel and striking phenomena cease to interest 
and become wearisome to sense ! 

In entering upon a course of philosophical study, 
it is all-important as a ground of right method, 
not only that we should bear in mind the true na- 



REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 213 

ture and use of facts or phenomena, but in our 
contemplation of the powers of nature, as indicated 
by them, that we should direct our attention in a 
general way, to the relations which these powers 
hold to each other. The general remark, to which 
the slightest knowledge of physiology bears testi- 
mony, and which I have particularly in view, is, 
that we discover a progressive developement of 
the powers of nature, the higher all along pre-sup- 
posing the lower and more universal as the condi- 
tion of its existence. Thus, for an obvious illus- 
tration, the powers of organic life pre-suppose 
those of inorganic nature, and the higher powers 
in the sphere of organic nature pre-suppose the 
lower. 

Another general remark nearly connected with 
the last is, that, in tracing upward the progressive 
powers of nature, and the products of their agency, 
we find the more universal taken up, and with the 
necessary modifications, included in the more spe- 
cific, yet so as to be subordinated to its agency. 
The universal is present in the specific, but as a 
subordinate agency, pre-supposed and necessary, 
yet only as means to the more determinate ends 
of a higher power. Thus the universal powers of 
attraction and repulsion, which belong to all mat- 
ter, are present, and modify the agency of deter- 
minate chemical affinities, and the process of crys- 
tallization, while at the same time the law of grav- 
ity and its correlative repulsive forces are overcome 
by these higher tendencies. So these agencies in 
their turn, including also the more universal, are 



214 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

taken up and made subordinate and subservient to 
the still higher powers of organic life. Again, in 
the sphere of physiology itself, we must regard 
life, organic life, in its lowest form or most gene- 
ral characteristics, as belonging in common and 
identically to all organized beings, the same in 
animals as in plants, the same in the blood and in 
the elementary tissues of the human system, as in 
the microscopic animalcule. But at every step 
the higher power, w T hich prescribes the more spe- 
cific, and so the individualised form and law of 
action, makes the inferior and more universal the 
plastic element and material, which it shapes to 
the upbuilding of its own form, and the attainment 
of its own higher end. 

In looking at the phenomena of material nature, 
as indicating the distinguishable powers which be- 
long to it, the most obvious are those of form. 
Distinction and determinate arrangement of parts, 
constituting defmiteness of forms in space, express 
more or less clearly the agency of the powers by 
which they are produced. At the same time pro- 
gressive developements of outward form necessa- 
rily connect themselves with and assist us in trac- 
ing the gradations of living powers already men- 
tioned. 

As this consideration of distinguishable and 
gradually developed forms is a point of great in- 
terest in physiology, it may suggest some valuable 
incentives to reflection if we trace the tendency of 
inorganic nature and of the more universal powers 
of matter to manifest themselves in an analogous 
manner. 



REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 215 

We see the great masses of the material uni- 
verse assume a form nearly spherical. The reason 
of this and of the variation from a perfect sphere 
in the tendency to a spheroidal shape, is found in 
the most universal laws of action pertaining to ma- 
terial masses, and which indeed may be regarded 
as the necessary and universal constituents of mat- 
ter — attraction and repulsion — slightly modified 
by the motions of each particular mass. In other 
words, we refer the form of the heavenly bodies to 
the agency primarily of attraction and repulsion, 
and we can see that such must be the form of a 
material mass the relation of whose parts was in- 
fluenced by no other agency. The same law of 
form, resulting from the agency of the same 
powers, manifests itself in the soap-bubble and in 
the globule of mercury or the rain drop. The 
most simple application of these powers would be 
where no chemical relations or properties interfere 
and modify their action, but where the force of 
repulsion is inversely as the cubes of the distances 
from the centre, while that of attraction is inversely 
as the squares. But so far as external form is 
concerned, the result is the same in all perfectly 
fluid bodies of whatever density, and so of all mas- 
ses in which the relation of the parts to each other 
and to the whole is determined by these powers. 
In this case then, w T e can refer the phenomena to 
the law of action from which they result, and see 
a priori that they must be what they are. We 
have a scientific insight into the formative power, 
and contemplate the phenomena as the sensible 



216 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

manifestation of an intelligible law, the form in 
which the supersensuous and intelligible makes 
itself visible and tangible. The outward form is 
here and every where the visible product and record 
of the power and its law of action. 

These powers then, pertaining to matter uni- 
versally, do not of themselves serve to distinguish 
one kind of matter in respect to form or otherwise 
from another, but, unmodified by other powers, 
would give to all material wholes the same exter- 
nal form. Whatever other powers are superadded 
therefore to modify the form and relation of parts 
in a given mass, must pre-suppose the presence of 
these, and so far as their tendency is diverse in its 
effect, can become efficient only by overcoming 
them. 

In the process of crystallization, we detect the 
presence of such a superadded power, manifesting 
a tendency distinct from that of universal attrac- 
tion and repulsion, and building up in each kind of 
mineral substance its specific form. While the 
formative tendency of the powers before spoken 
of is, like the powers themselves, coextensive with 
matter and every where the same, we find here 
diversity of form and of the formative agency, con- 
nected apparently with diversity in the chemical 
and electro-magnetic properties of different mine- 
rals. The distinctive characteristics of this power, 
or formative process, as exhibited in the phenom- 
enal results, form a distinct branch of study, and 
have acquired a kind of scientific precision. Yet 
we have not, as in the former case, an idea and 



REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 217 

scientific insight into the nature of the agency 
from which the crystalline form results ; and the 
science of mineralogy, therefore, as to its ultimate 
principles, is still empirical in its character. It is 
sufficient here merely to direct your attention to 
a comparison of the phenomena of crystallization 
as already known to you, with those exhibited in 
the elementary forms of organic life. Remarks on 
the general notions of living power and the life of 
nature. 

Observe, that in the formative process in mine- 
rals, although the crystal may be regarded as, in 
a certain sense, an individualization of the specific 
formative power of a given mineral, yet the phe- 
nomena do not indicate that this power has be- 
come subjective in the crystal, and so works by 
means of it as its organ. They lead us rather to 
contemplate it as present with the diffused sub- 
stance of the mineral in its state of solution, in the 
same sense in which attraction and repulsion are 
present to all material substance, and in like man- 
ner determining it, when no other agencies ob- 
struct the process, to assume in each mineral a 
specific crystalline form. Thus in any or all parts 
of a mineral solution, or influenced by mere ex- 
traneous and accidental circumstances, nuclei may 
be formed, i. e. the individualizing process com- 
menced. This is in fact no true individualizing 
of the power, but only a manifold exhibition of it 
in its phenomenal forms. Just as attraction and 
repulsion manifest their presence in all the drops 
of a falling shower, so the more specific agency of 
28 



218 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

a higher power is exhibited as diffusively present 
in the flakes of the falling snow. It acts as it 
were immediately and outwardly upon the homo- 
geneous crystallizable material, without the inter- 
vention of an antecedent seminal principle, as the 
condition of its action upon the surrounding ele- 
ments. Thus, when the nucleus is formed, it is 
not the organic instrument of its own growth; but 
the same agency which determined the locality 
and form of a given nucleus, continues to increase 
it by apposition of successive strata upon the sur- 
face. 

The crystal has no organs — - has an angular and 
geometric form — is homogeneous in its mass — 
no internal motion of parts nor included fluids — 
but is a fixed solid. 

Here then is the point of transition from mineral 
to vegetable and animal, from crystalline to organ- 
ic forms. In the simplest and most elementary 
form of vegetable or animal existence, whether in 
the most simply organized plant or animalcule, or 
in the elementary tissues of more complex forms, 
the phenomena compel us to assume a subjective 
power, hypostasized in, and one with, the living 
form, in which its agency is manifested. The 
organic form is not a mere fixed product or relic 
of the agency which produced it, but the outward 
manifestation of a present living power. 

That power, too, in its relation to the organi- 
zable elements by which the organic form is to be 
upbuilt, cannot be regarded as immediately present 
to them in their local diffusion, but acts upon them 



REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 219 

only from within outwardly, by means of parts 
already organized, and through these, as the ne- 
cessary condition of its outward action. Hence 
organic forms proceed only from antecedent forms, 
and cannot be conceived as producible in the order 
of nature, by any powers pertaining to inorganic 
matter, and uninfluenced by previous organization. 

Again, relatively to the powers of inorganic 
nature, that of organic formation manifests itself 
obviously as a higher and controlling power. With- 
out annihilating the mechanical and chemical 
agencies of the inorganic elements, or even the 
tendency to crystalline forms, the power of life 
subordinates all these to the developement of its 
own specific and individual form. They must be 
conceived as still present, with all their distinctive 
tendencies, in the several elements to which they 
belong, but modified in their action and made the 
instruments of a higher power, striving, by means 
of these, for the attainment of its own prescribed 
end. 

In respect to the distinctive phenomena of or- 
ganic formations, the following particulars may be 
observed. 1st. In the lowest forms and elemen- 
tary tissues, we distinguish containing vessels and 
contained fluids ; so that fluids here enter into the 
organic structure. 2nd. The increase and growth 
of an organic body is not by external apposition, 
but by means of elements first received into its 
vessels, assimilated, and made instrumental to a 
developement from within. 3d. Consequently 
internal vessels, and the motion of fluids in these, 



220 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

is the most essential character of organic forms. 
4th. By the reception, assimilation, transmission 
by vessels, and secretion in the several organs the 
nutrition and growth of the whole organism is 
effected, and this constitutes the life of plants. 

Thus, by means of the assimilative organs, and 
the motion of the fluids, the plant has the power 
of self-developement and self-conservation, by ap- 
propriating and converting into its own organic 
form the heterogeneous elements which are the 
objective means and condition of its growth. The 
relation of subjective and objective is here exhib- 
ited in its simplest form. In crystallization we 
conceive the crystallizable material, and the ten- 
dency to crystallize, as inseparable and coextensive. 
The material is pre-existent, as a homogeneous 
element, and merely assumes a crystalline form 
without change of its chemical properties. While 
we distinguish between the power and the mate- 
rial in which it manifests itself, we still do not 
conceive it as a new power supervening, but as al- 
ready present in the material itself. 

In organization, on the other hand, we do not 
conceive the organic power as latent in the organ- 
izable elements. But this, as an active principle, 
exists subjectively only in the seed or germ, the 
already organized form, while the correlative ob- 
ject, which is the material on which it acts, is 
conceived as merely passive in relation to it, or as 
having, in itself, no tendency to assume this or 
that organic form. It is rather indifferent to all 
organic forms, and, relatively to the organific prin- 



REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 221 

ciple, the mere plastic material to which it super- 
venes, and by means of which it developes its own 
predetermined form of organization. 

Here observe, the form, the specific and individ- 
ual character of the organism, is subjectively pre- 
determined, and not objectively ; in the unity of the 
living principle, and not by the outward and cor- 
relative material. It impresses its own character 
on that material, forms out of it, by assimilation, 
the organic elements of its own growth, and deter- 
mines the form of its own developement, according 
to its own inward law of being. This inward law, 
pertaining to the unity of the principle of life in 
each organism, and. predetermining its form of de- 
velopement, and the end, in the realization of 
which its functions terminate, is what I mean by 
the subjective, while the correlative objective is 
found in the extraneous and yet heterogeneous, 
but plastic and assimilable elements, in which it 
seeks, as it were, the means to its ends, and makes 
them the bearers of its own living form. 

Here again, it must be remarked more directly, 
that in order to the conception of that which I 
have termed subjective, as pre-determining the 
organific process, the relation of its agencies to an 
end is an essential point to be considered. We 
see manifold parts and organs, each with its sev- 
eral functions, and with various relations to the 
outward elements, but all ivorking unitedly towards 
one and the same end. It is this relation to one 
and the same end, that gives its unity to an organic 
system, as a whole. The forms and functions of 



222 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

the several parts can be understood only by their 
relation to the whole ; and the perfection of the 
ivhole, as resulting from the free and perfect de- 
velopement of all its powers and organs in due 
proportion and harmony, is the end, in reference 
to which organic action must be contemplated. 
This end the phenomena constrain us to conceive, 
as pre-determined by the subjective principle of 
life, while the objective and correlative elements, 
on which its transforming power is exerted, are 
but the plastic material, though the necessary 
condition, for its attainment. According to the 
Platonic doctrine, the formative or organinc power 
here is to be conceived as an idea, that has at 
the same time a living, self-realizing energy — as 
a living law, manifesting itself in the outward 
forms which it constructs, and constituting their 
inward life. 

This idea of a subjective tendency, or of an end 
subjectively prescribed in the unity of the vital 
principle, that end being the perfection of the or- 
ganism itself as a whole, is that which essentially 
distinguishes organic from mechanical powers and 
agencies. In a machine, the controlling idea and 
power which determines its form, the nature of 
its materials, and the relations of its parts, is ex- 
traneous to the machine, in the mind and skill of 
the machinist. The end also, which it is designed 
to effect, is in like manner extraneous, or out of 
itself and the machine is regarded only as the 
means for the accomplishment of this. On the 
other hand, that which determines the specific 



REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 223 

form of an organic system, must be conceived as 
an actual power, subjectively present in the living 
body, and building up by its agency, the form in 
which it reveals itself. In reference to the end 
for which it works, it builds up its manifold organs 
in the unity and harmony of their relations, as 
constituting one organic whole, not, as a machine, 
for the accomplishment of an ulterior end, but for 
its own sake. It is, in short, its own end. That 
which it strives to accomplish as an end, is the 
perfect realization of the idea which constitutes 
the inward law of its being. It is a self-realizing 
idea — an idea working as a living power, and re- 
vealing itself outwardly, in the material world of 
sense, in the organic form which it constructs out 
of the material elements, which it subordinates to 
that end. 

This train of thought would be incomplete, 
were it not added, as a truth essentially involved 
in the idea of an organic system, and manifested 
by the phenomena which it exhibits, that no par- 
ticular part, organ, or function, of the system can 
be conceived as merely a mechanical means in its 
relation to any other, but all the several organs 
and functions have to each other reciprocally the 
relation of means and ends; the one living and or- 
ganific power, in the manifoldness of its distin- 
guishable agencies, thus combining and harmoniz- 
ing the whole, according to its effectual working 
in the measure of every part, and making increase 
of the body, until it attains the full upbuilding and 
developements of its pre-determined form. 



224 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

These remarks are general, and apply to all or- 
ganized bodies. Whether more simple or more 
complex in the number of their organs and func- 
tions, they have the same general characters, in 
regard to the relation of the parts to each other 
and to the whole, and of the subjective principle 
of life to its pre-determined end. The same gen- 
eral relation of subjective and objective also sub- 
sists in all cases between the inward principle of 
life and the correlative elements, which are the 
outward means and conditions of its actual devel- 
opement. But in regard to this relation, and the 
modes and organs by which the subjective, re- 
garded as the unity of life in the entire organism, 
acts upon, and appropriates its correlative objects, 
there are connected with the successive gradations 
in the developement of organic nature, very obvi- 
ous distinctions. — Only some of the most general 
need be noticed here. 

It was remarked before, that in the organic ac- 
tion of plants, the relation of subjective and objec- 
tive is exhibited in its simplest form. In this we 
see the organization adapted to the relative out- 
ivard condition of those elements on which the 
several organs are to act, that condition being con- 
sidered as fixed, and the plant itself without organs 
of locomotion. It has no provision for changing 
either its own place, or the place of those elements 
which are the conditions of its growth. It simply 
projects its organs in search, as it were, of its ne- 
cessary food on the one hand, and of air and light, 
the other essential conditions of organic life, on the 



REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 225 

other. Its root, with its branches and their root- 
lets, descend, and insinuate themselves into the 
soil, while the stem with its branches and leaves 
expand upwards, both to act, in the performance of 
their appropriate functions, immediately upon the 
elements with which they there come in contact. 
The transmuting and assimilative functions seem 
to be performed by these peripheral organs at the 
point of contact between their expanded surfaces 
and the outward elements. Here the subjective 
and the objective, considered as the power of as- 
similation and the assimilable element, are in im- 
mediate connexion, with no intervening function. 
This too, the process of assimilation and growth, 
or productivity, by the agency of these organs, is 
the whole sphere of vegetable life. The subjec- 
tivity, therefore, of the principle of life here, rela- 
tively to its corresponding objective, may be said 
to be comparatively superficial. This remark will 
be better understood and appreciated in the sequel. 
If we compare with this the organic relation of 
animals to their outward correlatives, we see, as it 
were, a greater subjectivity of the principle of life, 
greater complexity of organs, and other functions 
intervening between the ultimate one of assimila- 
tion and the outward objects on which it is to act. 
Thus, instead of expanding its absorbent vessels 
in contact with their surrounding objects, the ani- 
mal is provided with an inward cavity, and with 
organs for apprehending and depositing within it 
the elements on which those organs, which are 
29 



226 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

analagous to the rootlets of the vegetable, are des- 
tined to perform their function. 

The function of aeration seems to be performed, 
to some extent in the ascending scale, by the ex- 
panded surface, without a more special apparatus. 
But as we ascend, we find for this function too, 
special organs, endued with specific irritability, 
and a power of motion, for the purpose of acting 
upon the surrounding air. Ascending still farther, 
we find this, like the other function, provided with 
an internal cavity, and an apparatus for conveying 
to it the atmospheric air ; and thus the functions 
performed by the expanded roots and leaves of the 
vegetable are here performed by organs wrapped 
up and secured in the internal cavities of the sys- 
tem, while a complex apparatus, endued with a 
higher organic power, is provided for preparing and 
bringing in contact with these now internal organs 
the material on which they are to act. That which 
constitutes the objective correlative to the inward 
power of life, is here, then, instead of being acted 
upon directly and primarily by those organs which 
effect a change of their chemical properties, and 
assimilate them, is first acted upon by a mechani- 
cal force, pertaining to an additional set of organs, 
and resulting from a higher organic power — the 
irritability of the muscular system. The point of 
contact, and the primary action and reaction be- 
tween the organism considered as a whole and the 
outward elements, is now in the muscular system, 
and results from the relation between the irritabil- 






REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 227 

ity of the muscular organs and their correlative 
stimulants in the outer world. Those muscular 
organs which act independently of sensation, must 
be conceived to have a specific irritability, and to 
react immediately and organically to their appro- 
priate stimulants. There is reason to suppose, 
that in some grades of organic nature, such irrita- 
bility alone pertains to the system, sensibility be- 
ing still latent. 

A still higher and the highest form of mere or- 
ganic developement, considered as the manifesta- 
tion of a new power, is that of the nervous system, 
and the sensibility, which is here superadded to 
the irritability of the muscular. Here, too, we 
find the complexity of the whole system increased, 
the inward principle of life becomes still more sub- 
jective, and its primary functions still farther re- 
moved from immediate contact with the outward 
elements. The muscular organs in turn, instead 
of being now acted upon immediately by an out- 
ward correlative, are stimulated through the medi- 
um of the nervous system, and the organs of sense. 
The point of contact between the organism as a 
whole, and the outer world, is in its sensibility. 
Its muscular powers do not act upon their appro- 
priate correlatives, but on the condition of being 
excited and directed by the powers of sense. 
Again, the assimilative powers of its digestive and 
secretory organs can perform their functions only 
as they are supplied with their appropriate materi- 
als by the muscular organs which are destined to 
that office. 



228 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

But again, while the inward and more hidden 
powers and functions of life are dependent for the 
conditions of their agency upon the more exterior 
and peripheral organs, with their irritability and 
sensibility, as the media through which the neces- 
sary relations of action and reaction are established 
between the ultimate subjective principle of life 
in the system and its correlative objective in the 
world of sense, it is a proposition no less obvious 
and important, that the specific susceptibilities of 
these exterior and as it were intermediate organs 
and their peculiar relations to the external world 
are dependent on and predetermined by the in- 
ward principle itself. The irritability of the heart 
and lungs, or their muscular apparatus, for example, 
and their specific relations to the blood and the at- 
mospheric air as their outward stimulants in gen- 
eral, and so in all their specific modifications, from 
the w T hite and cold blooded animals with their 
slight respiration, up to the mammalia and birds, is 
just that in kind and degree, which the specific na- 
ture and wants of the one inward principle of life in 
the organism determines it to be, or which is neces- 
sary for the attainment of its end. So the still 
more peripheral sensibility of the system and its 
relation to the external objects of sense, considered 
in reference to mere organic existence, have a like 
dependence on and are equally predetermined in 
their susceptibilities and functions, by the one in- 
ward principle of life and its specific wants as con- 
nected with the outward world of sense. The 
mere creature of sense, in other words, has no sen- 



REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 229 

sibility, it is not excitable through the medium of 
its senses, except by such objects as have a speci- 
fic relation to the character and organic wants of 
its inward life. 

In a word, the external form and organic excit- 
abilities of the organic system, in its relations with 
the external elements, must be conceived as sub- 
jectively determined in the specific principle of 
life, yet as correlative to those elements and their 
inward powers. The specific principle of life, in 
each organism, strives after the realization of its 
own ends, in the devclopement and organic action 
of precisely those organs, and the agency of those 
organic powers, which are necessary to the attain- 
ment of its end; the outer correlatives in the world 
of sense, with all their manifold powers and agen- 
cies, being pre-supposed as containing the condi- 
tions of its outward existence. 

In the outer elements, as containing the condi- 
tions of its outward existence and developement, 
the means by which its end is to be realized, the 
living creature, whether plant or animal, may be 
said to seek and strive after the end which the 
inward law of its being prescribes, by appropriat- 
ing the necessary surrounding elements as means 
to that end. 

But while we contemplate the organs of mus- 
cular action and of sense, with their peculiar func- 
tions, as instrumental to the nutrition of the sys- 
tem, and so in relation of means to an end, it must 
not be forgotten, that all are reciprocally means 
and ends, and that the function and organs of nu- 



230 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

trition, in turn, are instrumental for sustaining all 
the other organs and functions of the system. In 
one point of view, we might be led to regard what 
some have termed the animal sphere, including 
the irritability and sensibility of the system, as of 
higher dignity than the so called vegetative 
sphere, or the nutritive organs and functions, and 
so the latter as only in order to the former. But 
it must be considered rather, that in the successive 
gradations of organic nature, what is termed for 
the sake of distinction the vegetative system of 
the animal, does not remain on a level with the 
organic system of the vegetable, and serve as a 
basis, on which are built up the higher forms of 
animal organization. The whole system, regarded 
in the unity of its vital principle, is higher in the 
animal than in the vegetable, and in the more 
perfectly organized animals than in those of sim- 
pler organization. With the enlargement and 
multiplication of its outward relations and the 
corresponding organs, the subjective principle of 
life must be regarded as elevated in rank, and 
every part as partaking of the dignity which be- 
longs to the whole. 

Nor can we even with strict propriety distin- 
guish, as some have done, between the so-called 
functions of nutrition, as vital functions, and the 
other above mentioned, as functions of relation. 
True, in the more highly organized animals these 
are, as I have said before, the more external and 
immediate instruments of action upon the objects 
of the outer world. But in strict propriety, the 



REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 231 

aliments deposited in the stomach and intestines 
are still extraneous to the system, in the same 
sense as the surrounding elements are extraneous 
to the roots of the vegetable. The subjective 
assimilative power of the system is still to be ex- 
erted upon them, and a relation subsists here be- 
tween a subjective and its corresponding objective, 
as well as between the muscular apparatus by 
which the food is deposited there, and its correla- 
tive objects without. In a most important sense, 
all the organs and functions are vital, and all rela- 
tive. The system as a whole is placed in a rela- 
tion of action and reaction to the outer world; and 
the agency of the muscular and sensitive organs, 
no less than that of the more properly nutritive, 
terminates in the developement of the one prin- 
ciple of inward life, the realization of the one self- 
determined end of its whole being. Its most ex- 
ternal organs and relations are the necessary con- 
dition for calling into action and perfecting the 
developement of those powers, which are, as it 
were, more inward, and determine the ultimate 
tendencies of the system. Thus, while, with the 
successive gradations of organized being, from the 
vegetable up to man, its distinguishable powers 
with their several organs and functions become 
more and more distinct and individualized in their 
forms and tendencies, each acquiring by degrees a 
more fully developed form and individuality of its 
own, the unity of the whole is still preserved, and 
the ultimate perfection of the whole organism at- 
tained, by the due subordination or proportionate- 
ness of each to all and of all to each. 



232 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

Observe, as another point of some interest, by 
what successive gradations the organized being, in 
its relations to external nature as containing the 
objective conditions of its existence, becomes more 
and more free, seeks the end which its nature pre- 
scribes in a wider sphere, and with increasing 
power as to the selection and appropriation of 
means. If we begin with the production of forms 
in the lower sphere of inorganic nature, we see 
that a given crystal can be constructed only where 
the homogeneous integral elements already exist. 
The principle of life in the vegetable seed, with its 
assimilative power, can compose for itself the ma- 
terials of its growth, whenever the more simple as- 
similable ingredients are brought within the sphere 
of its agency. 

In the lowest form of animal organization, we 
find, added to the assimilative functions, an appar- 
atus by which the animal through its own agency 
grasps and brings in contact with its assimilative 
organs, the aliments that would not otherwise be 
within their reach. At the next step in the as- 
cending scale we find the power of locomotion, by 
which the animal is enabled to range with more or 
less freedom in search of its appropriate food, and 
guided by its senses, to select in a wider and wider 
sphere of external nature, the means necessary for 
its organic ends. Yet here we find different spe- 
cies limited as to those means in an endless vari- 
ety of modes and degrees, by the specific relations 
both of their assimilative powers and muscular 
organs to their corresponding objects. Many in- 



REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 233 

sects, as the silk worm, are limited in the selection 
of their food to the leaves of a particular species of 
plants, or like the honey bee, to the same or nearly 
resembling fluids secreted by different plants. 
Some are confined to vegetable, others to animal 
substances, and all are more or less limited by the 
outward conditions of climate and the multiplied 
outward circumstances to which their organization 
has reference. 

In all these respects, the human system is the 
least limited in the conditions of its existence. It 
has a greater power of assimilation, and can ex- 
tract its nourishment from a greater variety of out- 
ward elements, or convert them into its proper 
aliment. The whole sphere of nature is capable 
of being made, by the agency of his manifold 
powers, directly or indirectly subservient to his 
wants, and conducive to the accomplishment of 
his ends; and the subjective powers of his being, in 
their full developement, and as the means of this, 
have the world in all the manifoldness of its 
powers and agencies as their correlative object. 

With these views of the relations subsisting be- 
tween the subjective powers of the organic system 
and its correlative objects in the outer world, let 
us proceed to look more nearly at the subjective 
principle itself, 1st. in its relation to the material 
of its organism, 2nd. in that of its distinguishable 
powers to each other in their successive evolutions, 
and 3d. in respect to its unity, individuality, and 
finality or determination to an end, in the succes- 
sive gradations of organized being. 
30 



234 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

1. The subjective principle of organization, in 
its relation to the material elements and the pow- 
ers which pertain to them as inorganic matter, it 
has been already remarked, must be considered as 
a higher power, supervening, and subordinating 
these to its own law of being. Observe farther, 
that the conditions of the problem require us to re- 
gard it as, in respect to its material, an interpene- 
trating power. The before inanimate and inor- 
ganic matter, when acted upon and interpenetrated 
by this, becomes vital, is, so long as it constitutes a 
part of the living organism, living matter, both the 
solid and fluid parts of the organism being alike 
pervaded by one and the same power. While, 
therefore, we distinguish this principle from any 
that before pertained to the unorganized elements, 
it is not to be conceived as extraneous to it when 
organized. There are no ultimate atoms or mole- 
cules, retaining their previous form and character, 
by the different arrangement and combination of 
which, as mechanical elements, different organic 
structures are built up. The ultimate parts are 
interpenetrated by the power of life, no less than 
by the power of gravity, and, so long as they con- 
tinue so, have a tendency to assume the organic 
form, to manifest the specific irritability, or to con- 
vey the peculiar impressions of sense, which per- 
tain to the specific principle of life in each organ- 
ism. The specific power of life reveals itself "in a 
visible and tangible form, and constitutes the essen- 
tial character of the living organ ; all inferior pow- 
ers, being, as it were, taken up into this, and made 



REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 235 

the transparent media, through which it manifests 
itself. Thus, in the eye of the serpent, we cease 
to regard the mechanical and chemical properties 
of its visible and tangible parts; and it is not surely 
the weight, or the chemical agents, as oxygen, hy- 
drogen, &c, which constitute the organ. That 
which we mean by the eye of the serpent, and 
which makes it to be what it is, is the inward 
power, which looks through it, and reveals to our 
senses the distinctive character of the animal itself. 
I say through it, or by means of it, not meaning a 
mechanical instrumentality, separable from the 
power that uses it, but as being the outward form 
and living manifestation of the power itself, correl- 
ative to our senses and percipient faculties, which 
could apprehend it only under material and sensi- 
ble forms. The form is instinct with the life, 
which in its peculiar and impressive power is felt 
and contemplated, as present in and one with the 
organ, which bespeaks its presence. The same is 
true of the w r hole animal, in all that pertains to its 
outward form and expression, as an object of 
sense. 

Thus the powers of organic nature enter into, are 
inherent in, and identical with, the material, organic 
form. This is their mode of existence and of action 
in the world of sense ; and if we intellectually distin- 
guish between the subjective, intelligible principle, 
as an idea, and the extended sensuous form, in 
which that idea is realized, we still recognize them 
as one and the same object, in its two different 
relations to sense on the one hand, and to intelli- 
gence on the other. The principle of life in the 



236 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

vegetable seed, or, still farther back, in the powers 
which produced the seed, is put forth, attains an 
outward existence and developement, in the plant, 
which reveals to our senses its specific form, and 
all its sensible properties. The living power here 
no longer abides in the seed, nor in its antecedent 
birth place, the mysterious generative powers of 
the parent plant ; it is put forth, it is here in the 
plant itself, which it has organized, and in which it 
abides as its distinctive and proper essence. 

The subjective principle of organic life, there- 
fore, is not a power which, abiding in itself as a 
subject, puts forth in the world of sense outward 
forms other than itself, and having an objective re- 
lation to it. It simply produces and puts forth it- 
self, and loses itself in, or is identified with, the 
extended, outward form ; in which alone it has an 
actual existence. It becomes objectized in the 
world of outward forms through itself, or by" means 
of its own organic action, but, in its lower potence, 
as mere organic life, in plants and in the vegetable 
sphere of animal organization, not for itself. 

2. But, in the second place, what are the rela- 
tions of the distinguishable powers of organic life 
to each other ? The powers referred to, as distin- 
guishable here, are, 1. Productivity, or the process 
of nutrition and growth in the developement of a 
specific form ; 2. Irritability, whose proper seat 
and organ is the muscular fibre ; and, 3. Sensibil- 
ity, which has its organ in the nervous system. 

In what has just now been said of the relation 



REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 237 

of the subjective power of life to the material 
form in which it objectizes itself, it must be ob- 
served that the remarks apply alike to all the 
powers of organic life. They all interpenetrate 
and impart their own character to the material ele- 
ments and living forms which they animate. But 
relatively to each other, we may with propriety 
speak of those forms of organization which are 
peculiar to the several pow T ers above enumerated, 
as having successively higher degrees of vitality, 
and being in the same order more and more re- 
moved from the sphere of inorganic nature. Each 
antecedent power and form of life is in a sense the 
basis of that which follows, and which is as it 
were evolved out of it, or makes it the instrument 
and material by which it objectizes itself. Thus 
the agency of the productive power of assimilation 
and organic developement is presupposed as a ne- 
cessary antecedent to the existence of irritability. 
This is distinct from the immediate functions of 
secretion, assimilation and grow r th, yet cannot ex- 
ist without these, since its peculiar organs are pro- 
duced by their agency. Irritability is a higher 
principle of vitality, a higher form of living action, 
which realizes itself in nature by means of the 
lower. In relation to external nature, therefore, 
it is more subjective, i. e., as a living power, far- 
ther removed from those inorganic powers and 
agencies which are immediately opposed and 
brought in subjection to the assimilative powers 
of life ; while at the same time, as remarked be- 
fore, the appropriate action of its organs in the 



238 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 

living system intervenes as it were between the 
external objects of nature and the agency of the 
organs of nutrition. It is itself opposed, not to 
the chemical agencies of inorganic matter, like the 
function of assimilation, as its proper correlatives, 
but to those powers which oppose a mechanical 
resistance to the attainment of the means neces- 
sary for organic existence. Its peculiar organs 
overcome or remove the mechanical forces neces- 
sary to be overcome in order to the prescribed ac- 
tion of the organs of nutrition, and by the func- 
tions of locomotion, prehension, mastication, de- 
glutition, respiration, circulation, &c, bring the 
materials of nutrition into contact with its proper 
organs. Where this power manifests itself, there- 
fore, in its higher form of vitality, as in the animal 
organization compared with the vegetable, it may 
be said to detach and withdraw more distinctly the 
organic form to which it pertains, from the sphere 
of inorganic powers ; to give to the whole system 
a higher character of separate and distinct exist- 
ence, in the higher developement of its subjective 
powers and organs, and in the relation of action 
and reaction between these and their correlative 
objects in the outer world ; and at the same time, 
in its relation to the inferior power of nutrition, to 
enfold within its own organs, to protect, and more 
effectually to secure, the agency of those functions 
by means of which its own existence and agency 
are sustained. 



PSYCHOLOGY. 



CHAPTER I. 

THE LIMITS AND METHOD OF PSYCHOLOGICAL 
INQUIRY. 

The term psychology (4/v%vj, the soul, and Koyog, 
doctrine), according to its etymological import, 
signifies the science of the soul, or a scientific re- 
presentation of its several powers ; the phenomena 
which they exhibit, and the laws of their action. 

In its widest extension, as used by some wri- 
ters, it includes essentially within its sphere all the 
living powers of human nature. The inducement 
to give it this extension, arises from contemplating 
those powers in the unity of that principle of life, 
of which they are the manifold developement, and 
which assigns to each its appropriate agency. As 
it is the same living spirit, which manifests itself 
outwardly in the physical organization of the body, 
and inwardly in the phenomena of consciousness, 
it might seem proper to include the whole under 
the term psychology, as above defined. Thus all 
the powers of the soul, as the one principle of life 



240 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

in man, are represented in their proper relations, 
and connected with the organs, in and through 
which alone they are manifested to our experi- 
ence. 

This extended view, however, embracing all 
that pertain to the outward and inward life of 
man, as a distinct species of earthly existence, 
more properly constitutes the science of man, or 
anthropology. As such, it forms a particular 
branch of that department of natural science, 
which investigates the phenomena and laws of 
living nature, or biology. 

The powers thus manifested in the complex life 
of man, though referable to one indivisible princi- 
ple of life, are yet naturally distinguished into two 
kinds. The one kind constitute the outward life, 
the vegetative organic powers, by which the body 
is developed, nourished, and sustained ; the other, 
the inward life of the soul, whose phenomena are 
manifested to our observation only in our inward 
consciousness. 

To investigate the powers of our vegetative, 
organic life, the assemblage of organs in the living 
body, their various functions, mutual relations, &c. 
is the object of physiology, or physical anthropol- 
ogy- 

Psychology, in its limited and proper accepta- 
tion, consequently, is confined to the investigation 
of those phenomena which are exhibited in the in- 
ner sense, and concerns itself with those of organic 
life no farther than they may afford ground of con- 
clusions in regard to its own proper sphere. 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 241 

The spheres of physiology and psychology, as 
thus defined, are clearly distinguishable by the 
mode in which the facts and phenomena belonging 
to each are known. The powers and agencies 
which manifest themselves in the organic life of 
the body, in the nourishment, growth and repro- 
duction of its material parts and organs, are not 
objects of consciousness ; but of the outward sense, 
under the relations of space, extension, form, mo- 
tion, &c, of material organs, and the investigation 
of them is inseparable from the study of anatomy 
and chemistry. 

The phenomena of our inward life, on the other 
hand, can be known only by reflection upon our 
own consciousness, and cannot be exhibited under 
the relations of space, or explained by reference to 
the modifications of extension, form and motion in 
the material organs. 

Though the phenomena which are the objects 
respectively of physiology and psychology, are 
easily distinguishable, and known by different 
modes, they have yet an intimate relation and in- 
terdependence, the investigation of which is of 
great interest, and may be termed comparative 
anthropology. That mind and body act and react 
upon each other ; that the powers of life, which de- 
termine the form and combination of the bodily 
organs, are through them connected with those 
which we find in our consciousness ; and that the 
agencies of the mind again influence the state and 
the developement of the material organs, cannot 
be doubted. Yet we can learn nothing of the 
31 



242 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

form and structure of an organ from the state of 
consciousness that it serves to awaken in the 
mind, nor of the nature of feeling, thought, &c, 
from any examination of the organs of the body. 

For a knowledge of psychology, therefore, we 
must look not to the anatomy of the organs of 
sense, or of the brain and nerves, however impor- 
tant these may be in the science of man, in a more 
general sense, but to reflection upon our own con- 
sciousness, and a careful observation of the phe- 
nomena which are there exhibited. In doing this, 
the same rules and cautions are to be observed, as 
in the observation of external nature. To fix the 
attention, and mark with precision the phenomena 
presented, to generalize and form conceptions with 
caution, and avoid hasty conclusions from inade- 
quate premises, are of the same importance here, 
as in the study of physics, and more difficult. 

Simply to observe, to distinguish and arrange 
the facts of consciousness, as presented in our ex- 
perience, aiming at nothing more, constitutes em- 
pirical psychology. To seek for the principles 
from which those facts may be deduced and ex- 
plained, and thus to acquire a rational insight into 
the laws of our inward being, is rational psychol- 
ogy, or the metaphysics of our inward nature. 

In a system of empirical psychology, it is not of 
course attempted to establish a priori principles ; 
yet some principles of arrangement must be adopt- 
ed, and these principles will result from the pre- 
vious logical and philosophical views of the en- 
quirer. The arrangement of the facts is the 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 243 

application to them of logical principles of 
method. 

In adopting an arrangement with a view to a 
course of instruction, it is necessary to have re- 
gard to the relations of the facts to be observed 
and systematized, to our consciousness. No true 
and living knowledge of psychology can be com- 
municated to the scholar, any farther than he is 
led to observe and recognize the phenomena rep- 
resented in his own inward experience. Now all 
the phenomena which properly belong to the sub- 
ject considered in a general view, are those which 
belong to all men, and which every man, there- 
fore, capable of the necessary exercise of reflec- 
tion, may find in himself. Yet some classes of 
phenomena are more obvious, and more easily to 
be designated and recognized, than others. For 
those, therefore, who are commencing the study, 
it is obviously important to begin with the more 
obvious, and proceed to the more abstruse and 
difficult parts of the subject. 

We cannot, for this reason, adopt the method 
pursued by some writers, of commencing with the 
inward, and as it were central, powers of life in 
the soul, in order to show in our progress, the re- 
lation of the various phenomena to these, as their 
origin. This view may be taken with advantage 
by those already accustomed to reflection and fa- 
miliar with the facts, but would be necessarily un- 
intelligible in the commencement of the study. 
We must, then, first observe and analyze with care 
those things which can be most easily designated. 



244 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

But, in whatever method we pursue the subject, 
it will be found attended with difficulties which 
do not pertain to the study of external nature. 
The natural impulse of the mind carries our at- 
tention to the world without, to the objects of the 
outer senses. We distinguish, and arrange, and 
give names to the objects of the material world, 
as matter of necessity, even when not impelled by 
the interests of knowledge. But comparatively 
few ever turn their attention steadfastly to the ob- 
servation of what passes in the inner world of their 
own consciousness. Those who do so, find the 
phenomena here exhibited to their inner sense, 
too fleeting to be fixed for the purpose of examin- 
ation, and too subtle and complicated to be dis- 
tinctly conceived and classed, so as to be repre- 
sented by steadfast terms and made communicable 
by language. 

Hence one of our greatest obstacles to the pro- 
gress of knowledge here, is the vagueness of the 
language relating to the subject, and the difficulty 
of one's determining the precise distinction, which 
another has intended to mark by a particular 
word. 

Connected with the difficulties of the language 
belonging to this subject, we must bear in mind 
the fact so often noticed, that all the terms which 
designates facts of our inward consciousness, were 
originally metaphorical in this use of them, and in 
their literal signification applied to objects of the 
outer world. This resulted necessarily from the 
process by which language is formed ; and beside 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 245 

the vagueness, which is inseparable from the use 
of metaphorical terms, has occasioned the intro- 
duction of hypotheses and modes of explaining the 
phenomena of our inward life, which are wholly 
alien to their nature. 

Another consideration of importance here is, 
that while terms are vague and fluctuating, they 
lead much more unavoidably to indistinctness and 
misapprehension in our views of the facts desig- 
nated by them, than in the study of physical sci- 
ence. Chemists may employ different terms to 
signify the same substance, and yet perfectly un- 
derstand each other in regard to it. The sub- 
stance is or may be before them ; and however 
they may differ in regard to its nature and proper- 
ties, they are always able at least to know what is 
the subject of dispute. In psychology, we have 
no way of designating a fact but by words, or a 
reference to the outward circumstances in which 
the fact exists. 

Again, it is by no means easy for different writ- 
ers to come to an agreement, with respect to the 
technical terms to be employed. The phenomena 
themselves vary their aspect according to the re- 
lations in which they are viewed, and consequently 
in accordance with the theory which the writer 
adopts, and with reference to which his technol- 
ogy is formed. Hence the terms cannot be altered 
and made to coincide, so long as the systems differ. 
In other words, our language here is nearly insep- 
arable from the theory which we adopt; and we 
cannot speak of facts of our inward consciousness, 



246 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

ivithout betraying by our language, the system by 
which we express our views of their nature and re- 
lations. Thus, if we use the same words, it is 
only in a vague and indeterminate sense, or each 
in a different sense ; and if we think with precision, 
and reduce our views to a logical and consistent 
system, we must have technical terms corresponding 
with it, and growing out of it. This arises from 
the fact, that nothing in our inward life exists sep- 
arately or separably from the rest. Feeling, 
thought, will, &c, all co-exist in the same indi- 
visible state of consciousness, and are the same 
act under different relations. 

Yet the distinction between words and things, 
between verbal and real definitions, exists here, as 
well as in regard to other subjects; and though in 
the completion of a system, the determination of 
its technical terms would be essential, it is more 
important in the commencement of the study to 
describe the facts in such a manner, as will help 
to recognize and reflect upon them. When these 
are clearly apprehended, they must be fixed in the 
mind, and distinctions marked by the most appro- 
priate terms which the usage of the language will 
admit. A technical phraseology, connected with 
this subject, can hardly V be said to exist to any 
considerable extent in the English language ; and 
this fact greatly increases the difficulty of advancing 
in the knowledge of the subject, but still more of 
communicating our views to each other. 

Yet with all the difficulties which attend the 
pursuit of this study, the interest and importance 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 247 

of it are such as amply repay the labor which it 
imposes. As an introduction to logic and meta- 
physics, a knowledge of psychology is indispensa- 
ble. It lays open to us, and teaches us to observe 
and contemplate w T ith ever growing admiration, 
that inner w T orld of our own consciousness, which, 
rightly understood, is far more wonderful than all 
the phenomena of the world without. It reveals 
to us, in a word, our own being, the power by 
which we are actuated, and the laws of nature by 
which we are governed. 

Psychology also connects itself intimately with 
the business of instruction in all its departments ; 
though expectations that are not well grounded in 
all respects, have sometimes been indulged, res- 
pecting the advantages of this sort, which were to 
be derived from it. 

In a more general view of it, we connect it with 
the history of human cultivation, in the gradual 
developement of the mind in successive periods, in 
the history of particular nations, and of the race. 
Here too, and in the study of the languages of 
different nations, and at different periods of their 
progress from a savage and childlike to a refined 
and cultivated state, we find an interesting appli- 
cation of the knowledge which it gives us of the 
laws of human thought and feeling, as well as 
important materials for the enlargement of our 
knowledge of the science. 

In the present course of inquiry, as already re- 
marked, that method of arrangement seems best, 
which begins with facts most easy to be desig- 



248 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

nated, and recognized in our own experience. In 
accordance with this purpose, and as best suited 
to its attainment, the following arrangement will 
be adopted. 

1. A general view of those powers which re- 
veal themselves in our consciousness, their leading 
divisions and relations. 

2. The investigation of the several leading di- 
visions in the order of — 1. The faculties of know- 
ledge, or the speculative powers of the soul. 2. 
The powers of feeling, the capacities of enjoyment 
and suffering, or those by virtue of w T hich an in- 
terest is awakened on the objects of our knowl- 
edge, — and 3. The power of voluntary action. 



CHAPTER II. 



STATEMENT OF CERTAIN PRELIMINARY FACTS AND 
DISTINCTIONS. 



In the study of empirical psychology, it would 
seem necessary, as already intimated, in order to 
consistency, that w 7 e abstain from advancing a 
priori principles as the ground of inference, and 
proceed, as far as may be, in the order of our expe- 
rience. This method I shall endeavor to pursue 
as far as possible; though, to a mind accustomed to 
reflection, the principles which facts of experience 
necessarily presuppose, will sometimes force them- 
selves upon our notice. 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 249 

My purpose at first is to state certain general 
facts, and mark a few general distinctions, which 
you will see I think to be verified by experience ; 
while some of them may perhaps at the same time 
be seen to be grounded in a rational necessity. 

1. All the knowledge which we have of the 
soul empirically, is a knowledge of its conditions 
and relations, and of its conditional and relative 
phenomena. Experience teaches us nothing of 
what must be absolutely and unconditionally, but 
only what takes place under certain circumstances. 

2. We must therefore consider the soul with 
reference to those conditions and relations in 
which its phenomena are manifested to us, and 
observe the phenomena which it exhibits, as the 
means of learning its nature. This is true of the 
knowledge which we acquire by experience of all 
natural objects. The chemist, in order to learn 
the nature of a substance, observes its general re- 
lations to his own senses, and to other substances ; 
and his knowledge of its chemical properties is co- 
extensive, or rather identical, with his knowledge 
of the phenomena exhibited by it, in its various 
relations to and combinations with other sub- 
stances. Thus the phenomena exhibited by char- 
coal in its combination with other elements in 
gun-powder, make an additional item in our knowl- 
edge of the nature and properties of charcoal. In 
this view, it is easy to perceive that our knowledge 
of its properties, or its possible phenomena, as 
learned from experience, can be complete only 
when we have observed it in every possible variety 

32 



250 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

of circumstances in relation to other substances in 
nature. We can never know that we have learn- 
ed all. 

Note. It will aid us in the use of language, 
and in understanding what may be said hereafter, 
if I explain here the senses of the word nature. 
As I have employed it in the previous sentence, it 
implies the sum of all that exists in space and time ; 
i. e., as extended and continuous, and under the 
relation of cause and effect, or mutual action and 
reaction.* In this sense, whatever is apart of na- 
ture stands in a necessary relation to every other 
part, in space, or time, or both. This is nature 
considered as phenomenal, and with reference to 
our power of observation. Considered with refer- 
ence to the understanding and the laws of its phe- 
nomena, we speak of nature as having an inward 
principle of unity, determining the phenomena by 
fixed laws. The same distinction is made, when 
we speak of the nature of a particular substance. 
In the first sense, it means the sum of the proper- 



* Action and reaction. Wechselwirking, not the same with 
cause and effect, but a relation in which two or more things mu- 
tually and reciprocally condition and determine each other; as the 
parts of a machine, or of a body in the mechanical relation of its 
parts. So the parts of an organic system hold this relation to each 
other, and all the parts of the material universe reciprocally act 
and react. A cause, on the other hand, in its highest sense, pro- 
duces and gives to its product its character as a whole in itself, 
and in the relation of its parts to each other, without being itself 
in the relation of reciprocal action with it, or being itself deter- 
mined by it. Thus the cause and its effect are not parts of one 
whole. God and the works of creation do not constitute a whole 
with reciprocity of action, but he produces the universe as a 
whole in itself, by a free causative act, which goes forth out of 
himself, and realizes its purpose in the projected reality contem- 
plated as other than the agent 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 251 

ties, or possible phenomena, which it exhibits in its 
relations with other substances ; and in the other, 
it signifies the inward principle, by virtue of which 
the phenomena are determined, or their laws given. 

3. With these preliminaries, I remark, that the 
soul, as an object of possible experience and em- 
pirical knowledge, is included in the sum of that 
which we call nature, and sustains the consequent 
relations to the outward world of sense, or what- 
ever exists in space and time. The relations of 
cause and effect, action and reaction, subsist be- 
tween the soul and the outward objects of sense. 
It is capable of being affected by them, and of ex- 
hibiting its own corresponding properties. It is 
by our inward experience, the phenomena exhib- 
ited in our consciousness, that we learn how the 
soul is acted upon, and reacts, in the various cir- 
cumstances in which we find ourselves placed, and 
thus acquire a knowledge of its properties. 

4. What we learn of the soul, here, is the 
modes in which it is capable of being affected 
from without ; the specific susceptibilities, recip- 
tivities of impressions, and powers of reaction, 
which it manifests. Thus, seeing and hearing, 
hunger and thirst, are modes in which the soul 
acts according to its own nature, and to which it 
is excited by the corresponding outward objects. 
The life of the plant, though capable of being 
acted upon from without, and of developing the 
inward powers of its nature, does not exhibit the 
powers of which we are conscious, 



252 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

5. The susceptibility of passive impressions 
from without, or the reciptivity of the soul, is 
called the faculty of sense, and is the faculty of 
being excited to action, and to the developement 
of its own inward powers, by outward stimulants. 
The specific powers of action, so excited, are ne- 
cessarily considered as predetermined in the in- 
ward principle of life. 

In speaking of the determinate relations which 
subsist between the outward object and the inward 
susceptibility of being affected in a specific man- 
ner, we sometimes represent the outward object 
as the cause of the affection or correlative action 
of the mind, of which we are conscious, and of 
this as the effect. It is important to observe with 
precision, in what sense these terms are here used, 
and what are the precise facts and limitations of 
our experience in the case. From what has been 
said, it will be perceived, that the effect of which 
we are conscious, results from the specif c relation 
of two correlatives, an objective and a subjective, 
the coincidence of which is necessary to the result, 
as known in our consciousness. If either were 
different from what it is, the conscious result would 
be different. Hence, in regard to the relation of 
cause and effect, if we say that an outward object 
is the cause of a result in my consciousness, it is 
also true, that the specific excitability of the pow- 
ers of the soul, and the existence of those powers, 
are necessary, as a precondition, without which the 
outward object could have produced no such effect. 
Hence, again, we must assume the relation of ac- 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 253 

tion and reaction, instead of cause and effect, as 
the ground of the phenomena. 

I dwell upon this preliminary view of the gen- 
eral relation of the soul to nature, and of the sub- 
jective to the objective, because it is important, in 
order to determine the nature and the direction of 
our inquiries, and precludes various questions, 
which have occupied much space in the specula- 
tions of former times. Whether we have any- 
innate ideas, or the soul be as a piece of blank pa- 
per, or of sealing wax, on which outward objects 
make an impress, simply, of their own characters 
or forms, with other questions of the like kind, 
will hardly be asked by those who have well con- 
sidered the general relations here exhibited. It 
will be seen at once, that the phenomena of con- 
sciousness which have reference to the world of 
sense, are determined, not solely by the outward 
object, but also by the specific reaction of the sub- 
ject, according to the inherent laics of its own na- 
ture. Thus, to illustrate the point still more 
clearly, from a comparison of the agencies of dif- 
ferent substances, the diamond, placed among the 
surrounding agencies of the material world, exhib- 
its only mechanical powers of reaction. It re- 
flects, and refracts the light, resists mechanical 
pressure, &c. A vegetable seed, or plant, not 
only reacts upon surrounding objects mechanically, 
but, when acted upon by its appropriate stimulants, 
reacts according to its own specific law of organi- 
zation and selfdevelopement. It unfolds its sev- 
eral organs, with their peculiar functions, and all 



254 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

the phenomena of vegetable life and growth, ac- 
cording to its own nature. Here it stops. It has 
no reciptivity, no capacity for the impressions of 
sense ; and under no circumstances, by no stimu- 
lants, can feeling, sensibility, be excited in it. It 
belongs not to its nature. In the lowest forms of 
the animal kingdom, we have, in addition to the 
specific powers and excitabilities of the plant, that 
of irritability; and, if not in the lowest, in the 
higher forms, that of sensibility, the external per- 
ceptions of sense, instinct, intelligence, &c. The 
point to be remembered here, is, that, in all these 
cases, the external objects and agencies are the 
same, so far as the mere presence of these objects 
is concerned, but each reacts according to its own 
nature, and in the developement and activity of its 
own inherent powers. 

It is not to be inferred here, from the proposi- 
tion that the soul possesses in itself specific pow- 
ers, which determine the possible impressions and 
agencies of which it is capable, that these pow- 
ers could be unfolded, and called into act, with- 
out the presence of those objects on which its ac- 
tivities terminate. They belong to the soul, 
indeed, not as actual, but only as possible, until 
the presence of their correlative object furnishes 
the occasion for their developement ; just as the 
power of the magnet becomes actual, only when 
an object approaches, capable of being attracted 
by it, and exciting its magnetic power. Though 
the subjective nature of the soul, as self-deter- 
minant, prescribes certain fundamental conditions 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 255 

to all possible excitements from without, through 
the medium of sense, and determines the formal 
law of its own possible agencies, yet the relations 
of sense are necessary to the actual developement 
and consciousness of its powers. In regard to its 
reciptivity of impressions through the medium of 
sense, the soul is conceived as passive ; or sense is 
the organ, through which it is acted upon ; and 
the faculties of knowing, desiring, willing, &c, as 
the inward principles of action, which are not giv- 
en from without, but require only the phenomena 
of sense, as the condition and occasion of their 
developement. 

In these remarks, I have spoken of the relation 
of the powers of the soul to the objects of sense, 
and through the faculty of sense, without refer- 
ence to the physical organs. Nor from our con- 
sciousness alone should we know any thing of the 
material and organic structure of the organs of 
sense, as the medium through which the impres- 
sions of sense are received. 

In speaking of the relation of the soul to the 
world of sense, I have represented it, as one of 
action and reaction, the resulting phenomena of 
which are manifested in our consciousness. The 
objects of sense act upon the mind, and excite 
to action its inward powers. Here we have a 
knowledge at the same time, of the outward ob- 
ject, and the inward agency which is excited by 
it. The outward object known, is extended in 
space; the inward feeling, sensation, desire, thought, 
&c, is not extended in space, but only continuous 



256 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

in time. We cannot conceive those powers and 
agencies of which we are conscious within our- 
selves, as occupying space ; nor can we conceive 
any thing as acting upon them and exciting them 
through the medium of sense, that does not oc- 
cupy space. 

The medium of connexion and the condition of 
intercourse between these, is the outward life and 
organization of the body. What this is, as an or- 
ganic system, we learn, not from our inward con- 
sciousness, but, as we do other objects existing in 
space, by observation and experience. It is only 
by experience, that we learn the particular con- 
nexion of each organ with the intercourse which 
subsists between the inward life of consciousness 
and external nature. No consciousness of that 
which belongs properly to the inner sense, can give 
us, of itself, any knowledge of the outward form 
and structure of the organs of the body. In the 
state of perfect health, the bodily organs are them- 
selves unfelt, and as it were the transparent me- 
dium, through which the soul acts and is acted 
upon. 

Yet we recognize the body, each as his own 
body, and the life of the body, as his own life. It 
belongs to him, as a part of his being, as the out- 
ward form and condition of his existence in space. 
It is the outward man, in and through which the 
inward powers of the soul express their form and 
character. It is the necessary mode of our exist- 
ence in the world of sense, without the interven- 
tion of which we have no knowledge, either ob- 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 257 

jective or subjective, no existence in nature, either 
in space or time. It is not merely an organ, or 
material mechanism, to be conceived as distinct 
from our personal self, but it is our proper self as 
existent in space, in the order and under the laws 
of nature. With it are associated all our wants, 
and all our gratifications, as creatures of this world, 
and in our relation with the objects of nature. 
We cannot separate the organic cravings of the 
body, as hunger, thirst, the want of air, &c, and 
our wants as self-conscious and personal beings. 
These, and the higher cravings of our intellectual, 
moral and spiritual being, are all referred to one 
indivisible self. / hunger, am cold or hot, &c, 
though these states are at once referred to the 
body, and used of the inward powers of the soul 
only in a metaphorical sense. While, therefore, 
we can draw a clear line of distinction between 
what belongs to the conscious soul and the out- 
ward objects of nature, known to us through the 
medium of our bodily organs, we cannot so clearly 
distinguish between the affections of the soul and 
those of the body, or those which essentially grow 
out of the physical organization. The early dawn 
of the inward life of the soul would seem indeed 
to be, as in brutes, but the life of the body accom- 
panied with consciousness. Thus the pain attend- 
ing the organic action of the lungs, excited by the 
first impulse of the air, the feeling of the want of 
nourishment, and the consequent desire and striv- 
ing after it, may be supposed to be among the first 
33 



258 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

facts of consciousness, and are essentially con- 
nected with the life of the body. 

The right view of the relation of the conscious 
soul to the organic life of the body, seems then to 
be this. The first principle and organic power of life 
in the body commences in a lower sphere, in com- 
mon with the universal powers of life and organiza- 
tion in plants and animals, for a knowledge of 
which, we must refer to comparative anatomy and 
comparative physiology. This unfolds itself in the 
process of fcetal organization and growth, and in 
the production of the manifold organs of the body 
with their several functions, antecedent and pre- 
paratory to the higher power of consciousness. 
The organic agencies, thus commenced, continue 
and carry on their work, in the process of growth 
and reproduction ; themselves in a sphere below 
our consciousness, but furnishing the ground and 
nourishment for a higher life, which, having only 
its basis and the elements of growth in the out- 
ward organs and the world of sense, has its prin- 
ciple of unity and self developement in the inner 
world of consciousness. For as the life of the 
body begins in an unconscious organization, whose 
inherent principle, with its whole process of devel- 
opement, according to the law T of its nature, are in 
unconsciousness, so the principle of our inward 
life, the life of the soul, has its first dawning, its 
first actuality, and the whole process of its devel- 
opement, in consciousness. But that conscious- 
ness is awakened, and its materials furnished, by 
the agencies of our organic life. The organic 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 259 

cravings of the body awaken the first feelings of 
the soul; the first desires are for their gratification 
the first direction and use of the outward senses, 
and the first acts of the will in the exertion of 
muscular power, all have reference to the life of 
the body. 

Yet in the consciousness of self, and the refer- 
ence of these affections to self, there is a new 
principle of life, it must be remembered, distinct, 
from the life of the body, and having its own laws 
of action. 



CHAPTER III. 

ADDITIONAL REMARKS ON THE NATURE AND AIM 
OF THE PRESENT INQUIRIES. DISTINCTION OF 
THE POWERS OR FACULTIES OF THE SOUL. 

In passing from the general relations subsist- 
ing between the soul and the objects of the outer 
world, to consider it more directly as it is in it- 
self, I wish to make a few additional remarks on 
the nature and aim of our inquiries. 

The purpose of these studies, then, is nothing 
less, than a reflective and rational knowledge of 
our own inward being. In strict propriety, we 
have no concern with the objects of the outer 
world, even the phenomena of our own physical 
organization, except as instrumental in bringing 



260 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

forth into art those powers, and so producing those 
phenomena, the nature of which is to be learned 
by reflecting upon our own inward experience. 
The object-matter of our study is that which 
every one means, when he speaks of himself. 
We seek to understand ourselves, by self-inspec- 
tion. 

The possibility of this, and of that self-reflec- 
tion by which we present to ourselves the agen- 
cies of our own being as objects of knowledge, 
becomes none the less incomprehensible, but rather 
more and more mysterious, as we reflect upon it. 
That it is possible, we know from the fact of its 
reality ; and it is by the exercise of this power, 
that all self-knowledge is to be attained. We 
place our own being, as it were, before us, and 
subject it to our own scrutiny, observe its phe- 
nomena, and determine the laws by w T hich they 
are regulated. These phenomena, as they appear 
to our conscious observation, are fleeting and 
changeable, varying with each successive moment, 
yet all referred to the same ground of being, and 
recognized as modifications of the same self. 

This then, is the form of that inward experi- 
ence, by which we advance in a knowledge of our- 
selves. In relation to all that exists as reality, we 
think of its existence as independent of its being 
known, and equally real, whether known or not. 
So in relation to our own being, we may distin- 
guish between the reality existing, the powers at 
work in us and the laws of their agency, as ob- 
jects of knowledge, and the reflex act, by which 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 261 

they are known. The one seems to us indepen- 
dent of the other. It is by reflective thought, by 
making ourselves reflectingly conscious of what 
we do, and feel, and think, that we gain experi- 
ence, such as will advance our self knowledge. 
The first state or relation of our being, as distin- 
guished from our conscious reflection upon it, is as 
it were the direct and immediate going forth of 
the powers of life, seeking their own ends accord- 
ing to their inherent laws of action ; just as in those 
organized beings to whose powers of life and ac- 
tion no consciousness supervenes. The other 
state or relation of knowing supervenes as it were, 
finds and recognizes the powers and agencies of 
our being as already given, as antecedent to and 
independent of our knowledge. 

Yet the conscious self recognizes these powers 
and agencies thus given, as its proper attributes. 
It is / that know, and feel, and desire, and will, 
and at the same time reflect upon these modes of 
being and acting as mine. I refer them to self; 
to my own being, as their proper ground or cause ; 
to one identical self, as the subject in the unity 
of which are included all those attributes, or rather 
as the one cause of all those agencies, of which I 
am conscious. The subjective self, however, con- 
sidered in this relation, is not the immediate ob- 
ject of intuition and experience, but is inferred as 
the cause of those effects which are immediately 
known in our consciousness. It is not myself, in 
the constituent principle of my being, but the sue- 



262 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

cessive and empirical acts, or states, which form 
the momentary conditioning of my being. 

The one identical principle of self, as thus in- 
ferred, is conceived as the inherent principle of 
life, having the same relation to the powers of the 
soul, which the principle of organic life has to the 
organs and functions of the body. In all the man- 
ifoldness of its operations, it is still the same prin- 
ciple, pervading and giving life to all. It is the 
same self, that feels, and thinks, and wills, that 
sees and hears, fears and hopes, and in its essen- 
tial being, prescribes the possible forms of its 
agencies. We represent its several modes of ac- 
tion as distinguishable powers, to which the cor- 
responding phenomena are severally referred; yet 
we conceive these powers and modes of action, as 
predetermined in the unity of the one living prin- 
ciple. In other words, we conceive a unity and 
spontaneity of action in that to which we refer as 
the first principle of our inward life. 

Since at each moment of existence only a par- 
ticular condition or modification of our powers is 
manifest in our consciousness, we think of self as 
embracing not only that momentary form of being, 
but also that essential principle, and those powers 
of possible manifestation, to which the momentary 
states are referred, and which are conceived as 
permanent in the subject. 

The spontaneity of the principle of life consists 
in its inherent tendency to unfold its powers accor- 
ding to the inward law of its own being, and w T ork 
towards the attainment of an end to which it is 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 263 

determined, not by mechanical force from without, 
but in its own nature and constituent idea. The 
soul, like every other living power, is thus deter- 
mined, and puts forth spontaneously its own pow- 
ers for its own ends ; though it requires the out- 
ward conditions before spoken of, in order to the 
actuation of its powers, and the realization of its 
ends. 

The passive feeling of that want of the neces- 
sary conditions of self-developement which exhib- 
its the soul in its negative relation as a capacity to 
be filled, whose supply or corresponding positive 
is to be sought for out of itself, and which is the in- 
separable accompaniment, or rather inherent form, 
of conscious existence in the feeling of self may 
be conceived as the common ground necessarily 
implied in all particular states and modifications of 
consciousness. So too all the specific powers and 
actuations of our inward being are inseparable 
from, and only conceivable as proceeding from, the 
one principle which we call self, as the manifold 
forms in which its being is manifested. 

This primary feeling of self, in one view, may 
be considered a passive state, as we cannot con- 
ceive of its arising, but in conjunction with an im- 
pression from without, or, as a state of being af- 
fected ; and every such state must be a particuldr 
state, or a specific determination of self. But then 
we have seen, that the same feeling rises in con- 
junction with every specific determination of con- 
sciousness, and must, therefore, be in itself uni- 
versal. It involves, too, the developement of a 



264 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

power, distinctive in its character, and not belong- 
ing to the lower orders of the animate creation. 
It is, therefore, a specific activity of the soul, 
awakened, perhaps, from without, but an essential 
form of its being, and having the same relation of 
antecedency to all particular modifications of self, 
which space has to all the possible determinations 
of form in space, as the ground of their possibility. 
Though we may not be distinctly conscious of this, 
we in fact involve it, whenever we use / as the 
subject of a proposition. If I say, / am cold, the 
universal / am is involved ; and so, in the applica- 
tion of every particular predication to the subject 
7. So much for the general idea of self, and its 
relation to the specific powers and agencies which 
are unfolded to our consciousness. 

What, then, are these powers, and the most gen- 
eral distinctions among them ? 

Though the feeling of self is a necessary ac- 
companiment of all particular states of conscious- 
ness, whether active or passive, yet we have no 
such intuition of its nature, as to be able to deter- 
mine, a priori, the powers and agencies of which 
it is capable, or the possible effects of which it is 
to be the cause. These, we can learn only by ex- 
perience ; and it is only by the process of abstrac- 
tion, applied to the phenomena of experience, that 
we distinguish what we call the several powers, 
or faculties, of the soul. The mode of distin- 
guishing them, or of classing the phenomena, has 
not, indeed, been uniform. Without stopping at 
present to give an account of different methods, or 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 265 

their several merits, I shall state briefly that which 
seems to me the most satisfactory. 

1. In the first place, then, we may distinguish 
the poivers of knowledge, or the cognitive facul- 
ties. Whether these should be placed first in or- 
der, seems to admit of some reasonable doubt ; but 
it will be most convenient to treat of them first ; 
and unless we aim at a metaphysical deduction of 
all the powers of the soul from a first principle, it 
is not a question of primary importance. There 
are, however, very good grounds for placing these 
before the others, since in the presence of an ob- 
ject to our cognitive powers, nothing else is neces- 
sarily implied as antecedent to it ; while any other 
agency of the mind, of which it is the object, pre- 
supposes a recognition of it as present. We ex- 
perience the cognitive agency of the soul in the 
first act of consciousness, and can conceive a be- 
ing endued with a conscious knowledge of objects, 
or capable of representing them to itself, without 
the feeling of any interest in them, and incapable 
of acting upon them. The human mind, indeed, 
has sometimes been treated as if it consisted es- 
sentially in the power of knowing, or of repre- 
senting to itself the objects of knowledge. Prac- 
tically considered, however, we may perhaps re- 
gard the power of representing the objects of 
knowledge to ourselves, as only an instrumental 
agency, subservient to the developement of other 
powers, and the attainment of other ends, than 
those which terminate in knowledge merely. We 
cannot at least separate the exercise of this pow- 
34 



266 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

er from those principles of our being which give a 
practical interest to knowledge, without leaving 
knowledge itself unsubstantial and lifeless. 

2. In connexion with the inward feeling of self 
before treated of, there arises in us a consciousness 
of the state or condition of self. Every such 
state or condition has a relation to the inherent na- 
ture and tendencies of our being, in the spontane- 
ous direction and agency of its powers, as deter- 
mined in the essential law of our inward life. 
Certain conditions are necessary to the develope- 
ment of the powers of life, and to our being in 
that state which the law of our nature requires in 
order to our well-being. Thus a feeling or con- 
sciousness of our present state is a feeling either 
of want or of satisfaction in relation to the de- 
mands of our nature. From the sense of want, 
as of hunger, arises a desire for those objects 
which our nature craves for the attainment of the 
ends to which it is spontaneously directed ; and 
hence we have an interest in those objects. In 
the gratification of a specific desire, excited in us 
by the attainment of its correlative object, we find 
pleasure, and pain in the want of it; as we feel 
also aversion to that wiiich obstructs the gratifica- 
tion of our desires. Thus our wants, our propen- 
sities, our desires and aversions, as the ground and 
occasion of the interest which we feel in the ob- 
jects of knowledge, of our hopes and fears, our 
pains and pleasures, form the second division of 
the powers of the mind. From the connexion 
which they have with the wants and the develope- 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 267 

ment of the organic system, and their analogy to 
the system of nutrition in the powers of organic 
life, they are often distinguished as the heart, or the 
source of life and action in our inward being. 

3. As we can conceive a perception or presen- 
tation of an object without any feeling of desire 
or aversion directed towards it, so we can con- 
ceive the additional awakening of these feelings 
without any power to act either for obtaining or 
avoiding it. Thus we can conceive a plant en- 
dued with a consciousness of its wants, and with 
a knowledge and desire of the objects necessary 
to satisfy them, without any power to act in rela- 
tion to the means of supply. Again, we can con- 
ceive such a relation between a living being and 
the outward objects by which its organic wants 
are to be supplied, as that the action and reaction 
shall be immediate, and uncontrolled by any other 
than a physical force. This seems to be the case 
with pure instinct, where the presence of the out- 
ward object and the feeling of want produce a liv- 
ing action directed to its attainment, of the same 
nature with the spontaneous contraction of the 
muscles in breathing, where the stimulus of the air 
and the reaction of the organs is independent of 
thought or volition. The only difference between 
this purely organic action and simple instinct, seems 
to be, that the action and reaction in the latter re- 
quires the intervention of sense, as a representative 
or cognitive power, through which the outward ob- 
ject excites the action of the powers necessary for 
its attainment. 



268 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

To make still another distinction, we may con- 
ceive a power working in an orderly manner to- 
wards the accomplishment of a particular end, 
without any distinct conception or consciousness 
of the end to which its labors are tending;. This 
is exemplified in the formative power by which all 
organic forms are developed ; in the instinctive 
working of the bee in building its comb ; of the 
bird in building its nest, &c. In these cases, the 
inward impulse to outward action prescribes the 
law of action, and determines the result by the 
same law of nature and necessity in the agency 
which works in the insect, for the forming of its 
wing, and by means of it as its instrument, for the 
building of its comb or nest. 

But we are conscious in ourselves and experi- 
ence in our working a higher power than any of 
these. We have not only a perception and know- 
ledge of the objects which correspond to our wants 
and a desire to appropriate them, but also a power 
to act for the attainment of the ends which our 
wants and desires prescribe. We have not only a 
power to work towards the attainment of an end, 
but also the power to conceive beforehand, to de- 
liberate and resolve upon the end to be attained 
and the means of its attainment. When the pres- 
ence of the object has excited the desire for its at- 
tainment, the action does not follow by an organic 
or mechanical law of action, but we have power 
to determine freely whether we will gratify the 
desire or not. This seems to me a fair statement 
of the power of the will, as we recognize it in our 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 269 

experience. It is not necessary here to solve all 
the difficulties connected with the philosophical 
doctrine of an absolute freedom of will. I will 
merely say, however, that it is not implied in the 
doctrine of a free will, that it acts independently of 
the understanding and the desires and propensities 
of the heart, or that its determinations are without 
grounds ; but only that the grounds of its deter- 
minations are in the character of the will itself. 
We have power to make ourselves conscious of 
the inward impulses and the outward excitements 
which stand in the relation of action and reaction 
to each other; and instead of being carried along 
as passive spectators of an agency beyond the con- 
trol of the conscious self, we feel that we are able 
to interfere by our own act, to judge of the influ- 
ences that work upon us and of the propensities of 
which we are conscious, to approve or disapprove 
of that which the law of our nature is working in 
us, and either to resist its tendencies or deliber- 
ately to make it our own work. This power of 
deliberate resolve is what is meant by the will, as 
distinguished from the heart or the seat of the de- 
sires ; and that power of thought and intelligence 
which is thus directed by the will for the attain- 
ment of its own ends or the determination of its 
own resolves, is the power of voluntary thought 
and self-control. It is the understanding, as con- 
nected with the faculties of knowledge, and distin- 
guished from those which are involuntary or spon- 
taneous in their agency, 

It is this power of voluntary self-inspection and 
self control, which places man above nature, even 



270 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

his own nature, and constitutes him a free and re- 
sponsible agent, and the deliberate resolves of his 
will, made, that is, in the exercise of his under- 
standing, his own acts. The brute is incapable of 
conscious and deliberative resolve ; and what it 
does is therefore the product of the power of na- 
ture working in it, and cannot be imputed to it as 
its own work. 

In this power of self-control is involved not only 
a control over our outward acts in the use of our 
muscular powers, but also a power of modifying 
and directing the phenomena of our inward being 
and the agencies of which we are conscious, with a 
view to the accomplishment of our own deliberate 
purposes. Thus all that belongs to our nature is 
in a certain sense placed under our own control, 
and we have the power of self-developement, of 
voluntary self-cultivation, in bringing what pertains 
to our nature under subjection to laws which we 
ourselves impose, and with a view to ends which 
we have ourselves chosen. 

The principles which predominate in the will in 
doing this, constitute the character of the will, and 
of the man as a free and responsible agent. 

The relation between the conscious soul and the 
world of sense, I have remarked, is one of action 
and reaction. The inward powers of the soul can 
be actuated, only as they have a correlative which 
excites them to action, and on which their agency 
terminates. Again, it was said, they can neither 
act nor react, but according to that inherent form 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 271 

of being, or law of action, which constitutes the 
inward nature of the soul. 

The same is obviously true of the principles of 
organic life; and the growth of the body till it at- 
tains its perfect form and stature, is but the devel- 
opement of powers necessarily implied and presup- 
posed in the first incipient process of its organiza- 
tion. These powers, too, stand in the same general 
relation to the objects and powers of nature. The 
inward principle of life can be unfolded only by 
means of those external elements which have a 
correlation to its specific wants and agencies. If 
we look now at the process which takes place 
here in the developement of the organic system 
with reference to time, we know that from the 
necessity of the case it must be, at least in part, 
antecedent to sensibility and consciousness, and in 
that respect analogous to the life of a plant. We 
know too by our daily experience, that the mere 
powers of organic or vegetative life may exist and 
act in their full vigor without consciousness, as in 
sound sleep. In these cases, neither the inward 
wants and activities of the organic system, nor its 
relations to nature, are matter of consciousness or 
knowledge ; and the question is, how, to these 
states of the organic system and the agencies 
which take place between it and the surrounding 
objects and powers of nature, sensibility and con- 
sciousness supervene. 

In answer to this, we can only state the fact, 
and some of the conditions in regard to the state 
of the organic system and the arrangement and 



272 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

connexions of the nerves, which observation and 
experiment have shown to be necessary to it. 
Why it is that in a particular state of the organs 
of nutrition, and with the necessary connexions of 
the nervous ganglia belonging to them, I should 
feel the affection of hunger, or thirst, or nausea, 
or any other affection, whether pleasurable or pain- 
ful, we cannot tell, nor conceive any resemblance 
between the state of the material organ as its phe- 
nomena are exhibited to our outward senses, and 
the feeling of hunger. We do, however, know the 
relation of hunger to the organic wants of the sys- 
tem ; and this feeling is the inward form in which 
those wants are made known to the being itself, 
in order to their being supplied. It expresses, un- 
der the form of consciousness, a relation between 
the organic life and the objects of nature necessary 
to unfold and sustain it. It reveals itself in our 
consciousness, and is felt as a want, as a striving 
of our physical nature after its appropriate objects 
in the world of sense ; or rather, perhaps, the or- 
ganic state is accompanied by a conscious affection, 
which excites a desire and striving after the 
means of its gratification. 

Here we must distinguish between the relation 
which subsists between the organic life and its 
means of developement, or its correlatives in the 
material world, and our feeling of that relation, or 
the phenomena of consciousness which arise from 
it. We can conceive the relation to subsist, and 
a consequent action and reaction to take place, as 
in plants, and in many of the involuntary agencies 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 273 

of our organic system, which do take place, inde- 
pendently of our sensibility or consciousness. 

When consciousness does not exist, as in the 
spontaneous agencies of the system, the relation 
between the organic wants and the outward ob- 
jects to which they are related, is immediate, and 
independent of voluntary action. Where a sense 
or consciousness is awakened in connexion with 
the organic wants of the system, we find a mus- 
cular apparatus, supplied with nerves from the cen- 
tre of consciousness, which that sensibility excites 
us to call into action, for the accomplishment of 
the ends which the organic wants require. 

But I have spoken only of that sensibility which 
is immediately connected with the wants of the 
system ; and we have reason to suppose that this 
is the first of which we are conscious, and that 
which primarily gives us an interest in the objects 
of sense without us. The obscure feeling of want 
impels the infant to seek the means of supply, and 
here the muscles and the organs of sense, properly 
so called, are put in requisition, and are ready fur- 
nished as instruments by which the cravings of 
nature are to be supplied. 

But not only are the organs ready for use ; the 
correlative objects in nature also are at hand, and 
that action and reaction which in some cases we 
have seen to be immediate, is here accompanied 
with the developement of the higher power of sen- 
sibility, and conscious pleasure or pain. 

I have presented the subject again in this view, 
in order to point out distinctly the relation of the 
35 



274 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

organic wants of the system to our consciousness 
and to the developement of the inward powers of 
the soul, and also their relation to the outward 
muscular organization of the organs of sense. 

I shall not give an anatomical account of these 
organs, but proceed at once to what belongs more 
strictly to the subject. 



CHAPTER IV. 

COGNITIVE FACULTIES. CONSCIOUSNESS AND 
SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS. 

In entering upon a more particular consideration 
of the powers of knowing, I wish to direct your 
attention to a distinction which is fundamental in 
relation to the whole subject of self-knowledge. 

All the powers of our inward being, it was said, 
like those of our organic life, require in order to 
their activity — to their being put forth in act — * 
the excitement of their correlative object. As the 
power of the magnet cannot be put forth, unless 
excited by the presence of a correlative power, or 
agency in the iron, so no power of the soul can 
become active, or be in act, but with a correspond- 
ing relation to an object by which it is excited, 
and on which its action terminates. Conceive 
then, the law of action and reaction, in regard to 
the powers of knowing, to be the same as in our 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 275 

organic powers and in the magnet, and the reac- 
tion resulting from excitement to be equally im- 
mediate ; and let us apply the comparison which 
is here suggested. 

When the power of the magnet is excited by 
the presence of iron, its agency is immediate and 
inseparable from the notion of its existence in the 
magnet. When the fibres of a muscle are irri- 
tated by nervous or galvanic influence — that is, 
acted upon according to the nature of their specific 
excitability — they immediately react, and the re- 
agency is exhibited in the contraction of the mus- 
cle. Here, however, let it be observed, that the 
organic reaction of a living and organic power is 
not, like mere mechanical reaction, to be measured 
by the force of the excitement according to any 
mechanical law. But the point to be noticed here 
is, that the reaction is of a specific nature, and is 
immediate, determined by, and flowing from the 
nature of the organ. 

In like manner, it is the function of a part at 
least of the nervous system to feel. The nerves 
are organs of sensation, and when acted upon — 
affected either by the state of their organs, with 
which they are connected, or by an agency from 
without, they react according to their specific na- 
ture, or law of action ; and this reagency of the 
nervous organ manifests itself, not in motion under 
the relations of space like the muscle, but in the 
sensation of pain or pleasure, of sweet or bitter, 
&c, according to the specific function of the ner- 
vous organ affected. The reaction here, observe, 



276 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

is immediate as before, and its specific form is man- 
ifested not in space, not outwardly, but in time, 
and inwardly in the mind. In these cases, so far 
as the action and reaction is simply organic, i. e,, 
pertaining to the state of the organ, the one is 
limited and determined by the other. The feeling 
of pain ceases with the exciting cause ; the sense 
of sweetness, with the action of its exciting cause 
upon the nerves of taste. So with all the affec- 
tions of sense, so far as they are immediate and 
arise from the immediate and organic reaction of 
the nervous organs of sense. Sensation is the 
form of immediate and organic reaction of the 
nerves of sense, and ceases with the influence 
which excites it. 

But though sensation is thus, in its strict sense, 
limited to the present state of the organ of sense, 
it properly belongs not to the body, but to the 
mind, and is the result of the most immediate co- 
incidence of an objective with a subjective agency 
in the nervous system, as the organ or necessary 
condition of such action and reaction. Now sen- 
sation is inseparable from intuition, as the form of 
immediate knowledge, since it is a finding of a de- 
terminate affection ; and in this therefore, we have 
the first awakening of the faculties of knowledge, 
in their immediate reaction, as excited through the 
nerves of sense. 

The point then, on which I wish to fix your at- 
tention here, is, the distinction between immediate 
knowledge, or immediate consciousness, and reflec- 
tive self-knowledge. According to the common 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 277 

use of the word consciousness, it is inseparable 
from sensation, since a sensation of which we 
are not conscious, is no sensation. Yet there is 
no difficulty in conceiving a capability of sensation, 
when the reaction should be in every sense limited 
by the exciting cause, should cease with it, and 
leave no further trace of its existence. May we 
not conceive the same of a form of conscious 
knowledge therefore ? i. e., of a consciousness 
fleeting like the successive changes in the state of 
the organs ; a finding of fleeting affections and phe- 
nomena of sense, that is at the same moment a 
losing ; a self, that at each successive instant is 
wholly absorbed in present feelings and impulses, 
with no power to loose the chain that thus binds 
it to the present and the real. Does it alter the 
case, whether that which thus absorbs the con- 
sciousness, be a feeling of organic pain or pleasure, 
or the presence to the outward senses of objects 
exciting desires, or even of images of those objects 
to the inner sense ? All the self-knowledge aris- 
ing from such a consciousness, would be a succes- 
sive knowledge of present states; and if the images 
of the past were represented in the consciousness, it 
would be without the power of comparison, or of 
thinking of them as belonging to the past, or of 
distinguishing between the real, and the possible 
or imaginary. It would not be indeed a self- 
knowledge at all, or awaken a consciousness of 
self, as distinct from the present state of conscious- 
ness, or from the object of knowledge. 



278 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

But the consciousness which is the instrument 
of self-knowledge, is a higher form of conscious^ 
ness, and necessarily involves the idea of self, as 
distinct from the object. Conscious knowledge, 
in the proper and philosophical use of the term 
conscious, always implies this distinction, and the 
reference of successive states of consciousness to 
self as the permanent ground of its existence. 
Here is not only the immediate reaction of that 
power which belongs to sense, and is coextensive 
with the affection of the organ, and specifically 
distinct in each several organ ; but there is awak- 
ened a higher power, which stands in the same re- 
lation to the immediate phenomena of sense in 
general, as the powers of sense do to their several 
correlatives. I mean, that the conscious self is 
excited by every state of sensuous affection, and 
reacts according to its own higher law of action. 
Whatever is present in the sense is its correlative. 

This higher consciousness is therefore simple, 
and does not admit of being distinguished into 
parts, either like or unlike. It cannot therefore 
be described, but can be known only by being pos- 
sessed. The immediate affections of sense, and 
the immediate consciousness of these, as I have 
been speaking of it, is one thing when we hear, 
another when we see, &c. ; but that of which I 
am now speaking, the consciousness of self, is al- 
ways the same, and identical with itself. It is the 
same / that is conscious of the various affections 
of sense, both of the outer senses, as of hearing, 
seeing, &c, and of the inner sense. In this sense 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 279 

of the term consciousness, there are not several 
kinds of consciousness, but several and various 
kinds of objects present to one and the same con- 
sciousness. 

This consciousness then may be considered as a 
sort of inward eye, whose objects are the succes- 
sive and manifold modifications of our immediate 
and primary consciousness; or rather, the imme- 
diate and primary affections and agencies of our 
being, as manifested under the forms of sense. 
As such, it is the organ of self-knowledge, and 
under the control of the will. Its most essential 
characteristic, as distinguished from that presence 
of objects which is immediate in the sense, is its 
subordination to the will, in regard both to its in- 
tensity and the extension of its view. 

Its character will be understood from a refer- 
ence to the ordinary use of language in regard to 
self-consciousness, and the degrees of clearness 
or obscurity in our consciousness of our own pow- 
ers and their agencies. I am at no time distinctly 
conscious of all the knowledge w r hich I possess, 
or of the various powers of thought and feeling 
which yet belong to me, even though I may never 
have been distinctly conscious of their agency. So 
too I may not be distinctly conscious of exercising 
all the powers of thought which are active at a 
given moment ; and to become conscious of them, 
must employ a vigorous effort of attention. So 
even in regard to the outer senses. A harmony of 
sounds or a combination of colors, blending to- 
gether, produce an effect on my senses, while yet 



280 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

I do not consciously distinguish or make myself 
distinctly conscious of them. I feel the combined 
effect, but can become distinctly conscious of what 
was present to the sense, only by a voluntary ef- 
fort of consciousness. Thus, too, I see in the face 
of an individual that which enables me to distin- 
guish him at once from all other individuals, but 
am unconscious what it is in the immediate phe- 
nomena of sense that is thus distinctive. By rep- 
resenting the phenomena and directing my atten- 
tion to them, I may become conscious of that 
which I saw before but unconsciously. So when 
an extensive prospect lies before me, regaling the 
senses with sounds and odors, as well as form and 
color, the whole is continuously present to the 
sense, and cannot become more so by any volun- 
tary effort on my part; but I can render myself 
more distinctly conscious of a particular fragrance 
in the air, or the music of a particular bird, or the 
beauty of an individual object of sight, by a volun- 
tary effort of attention directed to what was al- 
ready an object of sense and of immediate sensu- 
ous intuition. The same may be said of the phe- 
nomena of the inner sense. The mind may be 
absorbed in a reverie, either occupied with the im- 
ages of the past, or involuntarily shaping some 
picture of the future, with fluctuating emotions of 
regret or hope and fear ; and we may in a moment 
arrest the spontaneous succession, and fix our 
thought at will upon any one of the phenomena 
that fill the horizon of the inner sense, make our- 
selves conscious of the agencies that we find in 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 281 

play, and the objects about which they are em- 
ployed. 

That attention by which a particular object 
present to the sense, is rendered more distinct in 
our consciousness, may be excited by an involun- 
tary interest awakened by it ; or it may be volun- 
tarily exerted, and admits of degrees of intensity. 
When feeble, we know little of what is present to 
the sense ; when intense, we distinguish with ra- 
pidity and clearness the distinguishable in the sen- 
suous impression or intuition. The consciousness 
thus excited may embrace many objects lying 
within the horizon of sense, or may be limited to 
a single object or a mathematical point. What- 
ever is present in the agencies of the soul, and ca- 
pable of affecting the sense, may by an effort of 
will be made an object of consciousness ; some 
with less, others with greater facility. There are 
many agencies going on in the mind of all men 
from day to day, and within the reach of distinct 
consciousness, of which yet most men never be- 
come conscious. But we cannot become distinctly 
conscious of those agencies of our being which 
are not phenomenal in the sense, or do not affect 
either the outward or inward sense. That which 
is present in the sense, constitutes the material of 
reflective consciousness ; and nothing can be in 
our conscious thought that was not before in the 
sense. 

It is by the excitement of the power of self- 
consciousness — of the reflective / — directed to 
the phenomena of our own inward life, that we 
36 



282 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

gradually attain self-knowledge. This, either ex- 
cited by an involuntary interest or determined by 
the will, brings into the clear light of conscious 
self-knowledge the obscure agencies of our being. 
The control and direction of this is the ground and 
condition of all mental discipline and cultivation. 
Without it, the activity of the mind is dissipated 
and lost without purpose or method ; and by it we 
take, as it were, the powers which nature has giv- 
en us, and the materials of knowledge furnished 
in the data of sense, under our own control, and 
direct them to the accomplishment of precon- 
ceived ends. The power of the will and of the 
understanding over the direction of our attention 
and consciousness, is the innermost power by 
which man holds the control of himself, and with 
a spiritual or supernatural efficiency, transcends and 
regulates the movements of his own nature. This 
w r akeful and intelligent consciousness inw T ardly dis- 
tinguishes what the man is and does ; wherein he 
is free ; and for what he is responsible. It raises 
the man above the sphere of obscure organic feel- 
ings and impulses, and brings the inward agencies 
of his being into the clear light of knowledge, and 
under his own self-control. 

The rude and uncultivated man lives absorbed 
in the world without, and knows nothing of him- 
self but the relation of his wants to the external 
objects of sense. The awakening of reflective 
self-consciousness lays open to his view the pro- 
cesses and the character of his own being, and 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 283 

renders it possible for him to apply to them the 
conscious law of moral obligation. 

But here it may be necessary to repeat more 
distinctly, that this higher and reflective conscious- 
ness can have for its object matter, only that which 
is present in the sensuous and momentary con- 
sciousness before described. When I look upon a 
strange face, though I do not become at once dis- 
tinctly conscious of what it is that distinguishes 
it, and must become so by an effort of attention, 
yet no effort can make me conscious of any thing 
there, not already contained in the sensuous intu- 
ition. The immediate intuition of the outward 
object may cease, and the sensuous image recur to 
me and be the repeated object of study ; but I can 
bring nothing out of it, nor find any thing in it, 
that was not given in the original impression. 
Thus reflective consciousness brings and gives no- 
thing to the object of consciousness ; but only no- 
tices, marks, distinguishes what was given in that 
primary consciousness, which was coextensive in 
every respect with the impression of sense. 

So it is in regard to self-knowledge, or the re- 
flective self-consciousness of the powers and oper- 
ations of my own inward being. I can become 
conscious of, and study reflectively, only that which 
is present and given for my observation in what is 
generally termed the inner sense, or in that which 
has the same relation to my inward being which 
the outer senses have to the external world. I 
am sensible of the successive states of my own 
feelings, as pleasant or painful ; of hope and fear ; 



284 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

of the activities of thought, desire and will ; and 
it is only that of which I am sensible, that I make 
an object of conscious attention. The sense, here, 
as in the agency of the outer senses, does not in- 
deed know, but furnishes all the materials of know- 
ledge. When I look into my own inward being, 
I find there certain phenomena in the horizon of 
the inner sense; just as when I look abroad in 
space, I find phenomena there which are given in- 
dependently of my will, and may be attended to 
or not. That presence then of the phenomena of 
my inward being by which they become possible ob- 
jects of attention and distinct consciousness, is what 
I mean by the inner sense. The powers and 
agencies of my being which do not affect the inner 
sense, or are not presentable under the forms of 
sense as a something given and appearing, cannot 
become an object of consciousness. From the 
phenomena which are manifested, we may infer 
the existence and reality of such an agency ; but 
we can never be conscious of it. 

Consciousness, then, in its proper sense, begins 
with the distinguishing of self from that which is 
other than self; and is increased in the increasing 
habit of reflection upon those agencies which have 
their origin in our own being. It would have its 
completion, if such were possible for us, in the 
simultaneous intuition of all the powers of living 
action which belong to us, in the unity of their 
origin ; so that our being and our knowing should 
be identical. 

To take a very general review, then, of the 
steps by which we arrive at self-consciousness, we 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 285 

may begin with the power of life. In the vegeta- 
ble, we have simply the productive power, or 
growth ; a continuous going forth of living power 
producing its outward organic form; a continuous 
striving after the realization of the specific idea in 
space. 

Now suppose the plant, in striving after its spe- 
cific end, of which it has no knowledge, to be in- 
fluenced by sensibility, a feeling of pain, which re- 
strains it in one direction, and of pleasure, which 
allures it in another ; that when the ascending 
shoot meets with an obstruction, there is a sen- 
sation awakened that impels it to vary its direc- 
tion, and seek the end for which it is striving in a 
new course. This may be conceived without sup- 
posing in tha plant any notion of the end, or of 
self as the agent seeking that end. 

Again, suppose the power of life, in seeking its 
own developement, to require and be furnished 
w T ith the apparatus of animal organization, and 
capable of apprehending and appropriating by its 
outward organs, the objects around it, to its own 
purposes. Suppose it to be impelled by inward 
desire, and guided by outward senses, in appropri- 
ating the surrounding objects necessary to its spe- 
cific ends. Suppose it to be repelled from one ob- 
ject by a sense of pain, and attracted to another 
by a sense of pleasure, and by the senses as or- 
gans of perception, to distinguish the objects of 
desire and aversion, so as to seek the one and 
avoid the other. May we not conceive its powers 
of knowledge as limited to this, and perfectly sub- 



286 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

ordinate to the wants of its nature, as instrumental 
for their supply, and directed solely to the discrim- 
ination of those outward objects which are neces- 
sary to this end. Such powers, with the keenest 
sagacity in detecting the objects of desire and skill 
in the adaptation of means to ends for their attain- 
ment, are clearly distinguishable from the power 
to reflect upon those subjective wants and desires 
which impel us to action, and give us an interest in 
the objects of knowledge, and upon the power of 
knowing itself. 

Thus to reflect and distinguish consciously be- 
tween the subject i, as feeling, desiring, willing 
and knowing, and the object of desire or knowl- 
edge, and to refer the successive states of con- 
sciousness to self as its acts or affections, is the 
dawn of self-consciousness, and an attribute of 
personal existence. The power of self-conscious 
reflexion, by which I pronounce the word /, and 
recognize a thought, or an act, as my thought or 
my act, involves the highest form and mystery of 
existence, the completed developement of the se- 
ries of natural powers, and is the dawn of spirit- 
ual existence. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE POWERS OF SENSATION. 

We proceed, then, to apply the power of self- 
conscious reflexion, which stands in the same rela- 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 287 

tion to all that is knowable, in the agencies of 
our being, to an examination of the powers of 
knowledge, as co-ordinate in the arrangement be- 
fore given, with those of desire and will. 

In treating of the powers of knowledge, we dis- 
tinguish, 

First, that of immediate or sensuous intuition ; 

Second, that of thought, or mediate cognition. 

The distinction between these will appear more 
fully, when we come to the consideration of the 
second, or the faculty of thought. For the present, 
it is sufficient to say of sensuous intuition in gen- 
eral, that I understand by it that power of presen- 
tation, whose objects are immediately present in 
their individual reality, as distinguished from those 
general conceptions which belong to the faculty 
of thought. 

The power of immediate sensuous intuition 
may be distinguished again, into 1, that of the 
outer, and 2, that of the inner sense. 

1. The outer sense, or that power by which 
we become acquainted with the external world of 
sense as distinguished from our own inward being, 
has its several distinct organs in the structure of 
the human body. These organs are the media, 
and furnish the conditions, of our intercourse with 
the world of sense, and of our knowledge of its 
existence and properties. Our possible knowledge 
of it by experience, is limited and conditioned by 
the modes of knowing which pertain to these sev- 
eral organs. Whether in the nature of things, 
other forms of sense revealing to us other proper- 



288 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

ties of the objects of sense are possible, is more 
than we can determine. 

It will be of use to distinguish in the functions 
of the outer sense generally, the two relations of 
subjective and objective. The subjective relation 
of a conscious affection of sense, is that affection 
considered with reference to the subject as a mod- 
ification of its state of being, and may be distin- 
guished in its connexion with the feelings of plea- 
sure and pain, as agreeable or disagreeable. An 
affection, or a conscious presentation, thus referred 
to the subject, is a sensation. 

The same considered in its external relation to 
an immediate and individual object of sense, is an 
intuition; and this term is used not only with 
reference to the organ of sight, but to all the 
senses. 

With this distinction, it may be observed, that 
in comparing the affections of the different organs 
of sense, or the presentations peculiar to them, we 
find in some a predominance of the subjective, or 
the sensation, in others of the objective, or the in- 
tuition of the outward object. Whatever con- 
sciously affects the organic system, may be consid- 
ered as affecting the sense, and in this use of the 
term, the whole body is an organ of sense, since 
by the universal diffusion of the nerves, the whole 
seems capable of being so excited as to awaken 
conscious sensations. The sensations connected 
with the ordinary functions of life, as hunger and 
thirst, and the pleasure arising from the satisfac- 
tion of the appetites, the general sense of health, 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 289 

or sickness, of elastic vigor or the langor of fa- 
tigue, all belong to the body as an organ of sense, 
and connecting our conscious being with a world 
of sense. We may distinguish here also, various 
peculiar affections of the nerves generally, diffused 
over the surface of the body, or particular parts of 
it, as those produced by tickling or by rubbing the 
skin, and the general sensations of cold and 
warmth. In all these, it is obvious the subjective 
affection is almost exclusively recognized ; though 
in all cases of a conscious affection of sense, in 
which we feel ourselves passively acted upon, a 
change produced in our state of being without a 
conscious agency on our part to originate it, we 
refer it more or less distinctly to a cause other 
than self, and out of self. 

From these vital sensations or subjective affec- 
tions of the organs, terminating in the subject, 
there is a gradual transition to those which are 
almost wholly objective: and we may state it as a 
general law, that the more distinct the subjective 
sensation, the less distinct is the objective intuition, 
and inversely. 

In enumerating the powers of sensation, and the 
modes in which we are capable of being sensuously 
affected through the organs of the body and by 
means of the nervous system, we should perhaps 
consider the diffusive power of conscious sensation 
which is common to all parts of the body, as the 
common basis of the more specific affections, and 
coextensive with the diffusion of animal life. By 
virtue of this, every portion of the organic system 
37 



290 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

is capable of conveying to the mind a sensation of 
pain or pleasure ; and the sum of such sensations, 
united in the common consciousness, makes up at 
each moment the state and condition of our organic 
existence, as pleasurable or painful. In this, we 
embrace the inward functions of life, the feeling 
of health and sickness, as well as the immediate 
affections of the external nervous tissues. I re- 
peat again, that all such bodilj sensations, though, 
as sensations, subjective in the sense above de- 
fined, and giving no distinct intuition of an object, 
are yet referred by the mind, to a cause out of the 
mind, and gradually, with the progress of experi- 
ence, to distinct organs and localities in space. 

Above the sphere, as it were, of this universal 
sense, or as a higher developement and specifica- 
tion of it, we enumerate the so called five senses 
of touch, taste, smell, hearing, and sight. 

Of these five senses, that of touch is in some 
respects more nearly allied than the others to the 
general sensibility of the system. It extends in 
some degree to all parts of the surface, since the 
skin is every where more or less sensible to the 
touch, and enables us to distinguish some of the 
properties of objects brought in contact with it. 
Even below the surface indeed, in the opening of 
a wound, we can distinguish the temperature and 
perhaps some of the other properties of bodies in- 
serted into it. 

Yet, however, this sense is more distinctly de- 
veloped in its peculiar organs, the ends of the fin- 
gers. By the more full developement of the 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 291 

nerves of sense at these points, the delicate tex- 
ture of the skin by which they are protected, and 
the support and fixture which the nails give when 
we press our fingers upon an object, we attain by 
these organs, a distinctness in the impression and 
corresponding perception of this sense, which is 
not given by any other part of the body, and prob- 
ably does not belong to any other animal. The 
ends of the toes also have, in some instances of a 
loss of the hands, been found capable of nearly 
equal delicacy and precision in their sense of 
touch, and the end of the tongue is often used for 
the same purpose. 

These organs, in common with the general sur- 
face of the body, are sensible to cold and heat, 
though from their general exposure, less so to the 
changes of temperature in the atmosphere than 
parts of the body which are less exposed. We 
however use them when we wish to examine the 
temperature of a body with more accuracy, as an 
external object of perception, and a property of the 
body. Of the nature of caloric, as taught by 
chemistry, and the laws of its action, or of any 
thing concerning it, but as a sensible property of 
bodies, the organs of touch give us no perception. 

The perceptions peculiar to the sense of touch, 
are those of properties belonging to the surface of 
bodies, as rough and smooth, moist and dry ; and 
to this sense, aided by the muscular movement of 
the hands and the intuition of the relations of 
space, those also, pertaining to the figures and 
solidity of bodies, as even and uneven, round and 



292 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

angular, hard and soft, elastic and unelastic, &c. 
In all cases, the organs of touch must be in 
contact with the object, in order to give us a per- 
ception of its properties. 

The sense of taste has its distinct and peculiar 
organ, to which, as in all the senses but that of 
touch, its power of sensation and perception is ex- 
clusively confined. This organ is the tongue and 
palate, which are furnished with a peculiar nerve 
of taste, distinct from the general nerves of sense. 
Here too, the object must be in contact with the 
organ, in order to awaken the sensation of taste, 
and must moreover be dissolved in the fluids of the 
mouth. 

In the affections of this sense, the subjective sen- 
sation predominates, and the attention is ordinarily 
excited by and directed to the sensation, rather 
than the object of sense. Of itself indeed, the sense 
of taste gives us no aid in representing to ourselves 
the outward form and the mathematical or me- 
chanical properties of bodies ; and the knowledge 
which it gives us, is confined wholly to their 
chemical properties, such as acid and alkaline, 
sweet and bitter, mild and corrosive. These, 
however, we perceive by this sense as properties 
of external objects, as distinctly as we do the 
properties which come under the cognizance of the 
other senses. 

This sense is peculiarly and immediately con- 
nected with the organic w r ants of the body, and 
the functions of nutrition. As such, its sensations 
are nearly allied to those connected with the gen- 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 293 

eral functions of organic life, in health and sick- 
ness ; and as an organ of knowledge, it is easily 
and often vitiated by the general state of the 
organic system of nutrition. 

In its relation to the feelings of pleasure and 
pain, the sense of taste is peculiarly important, as 
compared with the other senses ; and it seems to 
be capable of higher cultivation as an instrument 
of pleasure in man, than in any other animal, in 
regard to the variety and to the exquisiteness of 
its affections. We eat and drink, not merely to 
satisfy our organic wants and still the cravings of 
appetite, but for the specific pleasures which it 
affords. By this circumstance, again, we are led 
to employ it with more effect in distinguishing 
those properties in bodies which stand in corres- 
pondence with the specific excitabilities of this 
sense. 

To the sense of smell may be applied also many 
of the remarks which have been made respecting 
that of taste. Like that, it is intimately connec- 
ted with the functions of organic life; and there 
is a like predominance of the subjective in its af- 
fections. Its sensations, too, can be excited only 
in its proper organ, and by the influence of the ex- 
citing cause upon the peculiar nerves of this sense 
diffused over the expanded membranes of the nose. 
Its affections are unlimited in variety, like those of 
taste ; but in its relation to life, and to the feelings 
of pleasure and pain, its more ordinary function is 
rather to warn and protect us against that which is 
offensive and injurious, than to serve as a means of 
enjoyment. 



294 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

Of external objects it gives us no distinct know- 
ledge, except of their power to excite the sensa- 
tions of which we are conscious ; and the proper- 
ties in bodies to which this power is referred, are 
in most cases distinguished only by referring them 
to the objects to which they belong, as the odor of 
the rose, of musk, &c. These properties of bodies 
are not perceived, or the sensations excited, as in 
the senses before mentioned, by the contact of the 
object with the organ, but by means of a diffused 
influence of the body upon the atmosphere, or of 
effluent particles which reach the organ of sense. 

In regard to the degree of excitability, and of 
the correlative perceptive power of this sense, 
though not perhaps in the multiplicity and variety 
of its affections, we seem to be placed behind 
many species of the inferior animals. 

The sense of hearing has for its organ the outer 
and the inner ear ; and the external cause of its 
sensations is the vibrations of the atmosphere pro- 
duced by the vibratory motion of elastic bodies. 
These vibrations are conveyed by the outer ear to 
the complex mechanism of the inner ear, through 
which they affect the nerve peculiar to this sense. 

The subjective affections of the sense of hearing 
are not referred as readily to the organ of sense, 
as in those before described. Its subjective rela- 
tion is no less affecting with reference to the feel- 
ings of pleasure and pain which it excites ; but 
those feelings are less organic, and seem to belong 
more immediately to the inward life of the soul. 
We are pleased or pained by sounds ; but the 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 295 

pleasures and pains are not like those of taste or 
touch, felt as sensations in the organ. It is only 
when the concussions of the atmosphere are ex- 
tremely violent, or the sounds discordant, that we 
feel a local affection of the organ ; and persons 
seem often in doubt whether both or only one ear 
is at all sensible to sound. 

The general expression for the objective percep- 
tions of this sense is, sound. We hear sounds, 
and nothing but sounds, as the organic nerve can 
react to outward impressions in no other mode. It 
is not necessary that impressions should be con- 
veyed to the nerve in the way above mentioned in 
order to the sense of sound, since a vibration com- 
municated through the bones of the cranium so as 
to reach the nerve, is known to produce the sen- 
sation. 

Sounds are perceived and clearly recognized as 
objective, but without experience cannot be re- 
ferred to the outward cause ; nor can any outward 
representation of it be made from the affections of 
the sense of hearing alone. It is by experience, 
and the observations of the other senses, we first 
learn to distinguish the sounding body, and the vi- 
brations in it and communicated by it to the at- 
mosphere, which are the conditions of sensation. 
We do not, therefore, perceive sounds immediately 
as properties of bodies, as we do the properties 
perceived by touch and taste, nor as having form 
and permanence in the outer world of sense ; 
though by experience we learn to refer it to the 
proper cause, and to judge of its direction and dis- 
tance. 



296 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

But though we do not give to the perceptions 
of this sense, shape and coloring in the outward 
relations of space, and they seem to have but a 
fleeting existence in time, jet they establish a re- 
lation between man and nature, more affecting and 
more exciting to the powers of our inward being 
than any other sense. Sounds have for our feel- 
ings a significance, as if the heart of nature was 
speaking to our hearts, and gave us an insight into 
the inward life powers of the natural objects by 
which we are surrounded. Hence the effect upon 
our feelings, produced by the roar of the tempest, 
the rolling of thunder, and the soothing murmur of 
the rivulet ; or the cries of animals, and the sing- 
ing of birds. But the peculiar world of sound is 
the product of man's own spirit, in music and lan- 
guage, by which, in a more distinct and intelligible 
form, mind holds intercourse with mind, and heart 
with heart. 

The distinctions of sound most general and im- 
portant, as perceived in the affections of sense, are, 
confused and tumultuous sounds, in which the vi- 
brations of the air cannot be referred to any intel- 
ligible law; and tones, either musical or articulate. 

Of the sense of sight, both as to the mechanism 
of its organ, the eye, and as to the outward con- 
ditions of its sensations, we know more in some 
respects than of the other senses. By this, how- 
ever, it is only to be understood that there is more 
in the organ, in its relation to the outward condi- 
tions of sight, that is intelligible on mechanical 
principles, and more in the agency of light, the 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 297 

outward medium of vision, the laws of which can 
be scientifically known, than in the affections of 
the other senses. Why it is, that, under these 
mechanical conditions, rays of light, falling upon 
the retina of the eye, produce the phenomena of 
vision, we cannot explain, and only know it by ex- 
perience. 

The organ, we know, is so constructed upon 
optical principles, that rays of light, coming from 
an outward object, are refracted by the chrystal- 
line lens, so as to form an inverted image of the 
object upon the corresponding portion of the retina 
of both eyes ; that the retina, an expansion of the 
optic nerve upon the back side of the interior sur- 
face of the eye-ball, is connected by the optic 
nerve with the substance of the brain ; and that 
these conditions are necessary to our seeing the 
object. 

Why it is, that we see objects single with two 
eyes, and erect, while the image upon the retina 
is inverted, are questions that seem to suppose the 
images to be objects of vision, as if there were 
another eye behind them ; otherwise, there would 
be the same reason for inquiring why we hear but 
one sound with two organs of hearing. It is a 
matter of some interest to observe the circum- 
stances in w 7 hich we do see objects double, and the 
influence of the understanding in correcting the 
irregularities, in this respect, of the organic action. 

It is a more important point, to distinguish what 
is the peculiar power and agency of this sense, and 
its subjective and objective relations. These are 



298 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

essentially the same as in the other senses, so far 
as this : that there is a peculiar subjective power 
of sensibility, and a peculiar objective agency as 
its proper correlative ; and the product of these, 
in the relation of counteracting forces, is the spe- 
cific sensation belonging to this sense. That spe- 
cific sensation is color. If, then, it be asked, 
whether color is subjective or objective ; whether 
it is an affection of self or a property in bodies ; 
the answer is, that the affection of color, as a con- 
scious affection of the sense, is a product, having 
two factors ; the specific sensibility of the optic 
nerve, and the rays of light coming in contact 
with it upon the retina of the eye. This is the 
point of union of two distinct and counteracting 
forces, the product of which is the sensation of 
color ; and the product has no actual existence, 
but so long as the two powers are in act, and un- 
der these conditions and relations. Now* if we 
look for the sensation of color in the excited action 
of the nerve, as if this needed only to be wakened 
in order to produce the sensation of color, we shall 
find, in the agency of the organ and its nerve, no- 
thing resembling color. So, if we investigate the 
laws of light, and the properties of luminous bod- 
ies, and fully understand the science of optics, with 
the chemical agencies of light, all of which, ex- 
cept its peculiar relation to the optic nerve, may 
be understood by one born blind, we shall find 
here nothing in the least resembling the conscious 
affection of color, or that could by possibility give 
us any knowledge of color. The affection is not 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 299 

only not knowable, but does not exist, except in 
and during the actual counteragency of these two 
polar forces, the product of which is the matter of 
my immediate consciousness. 

It is a peculiarity of this sense, that we are 
more conscious of the waking state and activity of 
the subjective power of the organ, in the absence 
of the objective condition necessary to its proper 
sensations, than in the other senses. The optic 
nerve is perhaps always excited in our waking 
moments ; or at least, we are often conscious of 
an effort to see, where no rays of light meet the 
eye ; and we therefore speak of seeing blackness 
or darkness, though in truth there is in that case 
no sensation of seeing, but only a conscious striv- 
ing after the objective condition necessary to sight. 

As the subjective cause of the sensation of see- 
ing is voluntarily put forth, and the organ directed 
at will towards different points, we naturally see 
colors in the direction of the organ. While the 
organ is fixed, we can direct the attention to dif- 
ferent points around that to which the axis of the 
organ is directed, and thus acquire the notion of 
an extension of the color to the distinct points, and 
so over an extended surface, from all points of 
which the external agency, which is one of the 
factors of the sensation, proceeds. 

By the immediate and proper function of this 
sense, then, we have the sensation of color ; and 
by this, connected with the power of voluntarily 
changing the direction of the organ and the con- 



300 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

scious attention of the mind, we represent the 
color as diffused over the surface of bodies. 

The affections of this sense vary in intensity or 
quantity with the degrees of light, from zero to 
the highest point of illumination ; and in quality, 
from blackness to whiteness, and through the mod- 
ifications of the several colors of the spectrum. 
The study of these properly belongs to optics, and 
need not be dwelt upon here. 

In regard to the immediate intuitions of the sense 
of sight, it may be said farther, in proof that they 
are not simply intuitions of things in themselves, 
considered as lying passively before us, but pro- 
ducts of two factors, as before described, that they 
are not the same for different persons, nor for the 
same person at all times. Instances are named of 
persons who can make no other distinction of color 
but black and white, with their varying degrees of 
intensity ; of others who distinguish all the colors 
of the spectrum but blue. It is, moreover, as true 
of the perceptions of color as of the affections of 
any other sense, that we can never determine 
whether they are alike in different persons. 

The same is true of the apparent magnitude of 
objects as immediate objects of intuition. If you 
ask how large the moon appears to my eye, I can 
answer only by comparing it with some other in- 
tuition. If I say, as large as an eighteen inch 
globe, the question recurs, at what distance the 
globe is supposed to be placed ; and so we come 
to the angle subtended by the object. But this 
angle does not determine the apparent magnitude 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 301 

absolutely, since the distance of the object is not 
given in the immediate intuition, and different per- 
sons represent the moon as at different distances, 
and the same person at different times. We see 
an object, then, under a determinate angle simply ; 
and its apparent magnitude will vary from a mi- 
nute point to a magnitude indefinitely great, ac- 
cording to the distance at which I represent it ; 
and sight alone does not determine the distance. 

Still it does not appear to me true, as sometimes 
represented, that extension is not given at all in 
the immediate intuition of this sense. Both the 
impression upon the retina and the corresponding 
presentation of the outward object have extension, 
since neither is a mathematical point. Distinct 
points are given, and diversities of color, side by 
side in the same presentation ; and, as before re- 
marked, the presentation remaining unchanged, 
the attention may be directed successively to these 
several points and colors in a way that seems to 
me necessarily to involve the distinctions of place, 
as given in the sensuous presentation, in the same 
sense as the color itself is given; i. e., so that it 
needs only attention, to be conscious of it. It is 
the essential characteristic of space, and of objects 
existing in space, as known to the sense, that 
every part is out of, or extraneous to, every other 
part ; and this is certainly given in the immediate 
presentations of the sense of sight. This is still 
more obvious, if we suppose the eye to move so 
as to change the direction of its axis, or the ob- 
jects present to it to be moved at an angle with 



302 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

the axis ; either of which would exhibit the phe- 
nomena of motion, which is inseparable from the 
representation of space. 



CHAPTER VI. 

DISTINCTION BETWEEN EMPIRICAL AND PURE OR 
MATHEMATICAL INTUITIONS OF SENSE ; AND BE- 
TWEEN WHAT BELONGS TO SENSE AND WHAT 
BELONGS TO THE HIGHER POWERS OF UNDER- 
STANDING AND REASON. 

Still, the distinctive and peculiar presentations 
of the sense of sight are colors ; and we can only 
say, that space, as an object of pure sense, and its 
relations and forms, as objects of the understand- 
ing and imagination, are more obviously suggested 
by the phenomena of this than by those of the 
other senses. 

It is equally true of all the senses, that their af- 
fections give us an immediate and intuitive per- 
ception of an objective reality of a something dis- 
tinguishable from self, and independent of our own 
voluntary agency ; of something other than self, 
and out of self. How the mind is first awakened 
to a consciousness of this sense or perception of 
outness, and so of space, we cannot tell. But we 
can see that the representation of space, con- 
sciously or unconsciously, is necessary, a priori, or 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 303 

as a necessary prerequisite, to all outward experi- 
ence, and all knowledge through the intuitions of 
the outer senses. We cannot conceive or repre- 
sent to ourselves the possible existence of any 
thing as the object of the senses above enumer- 
ated, under any form that is not extended, and that 
does not presuppose the antecedency of space as 
that in which it exists. 

Thus too, we represent what takes place or is 
presented to our senses in our experience, as oc- 
curring in time and under the relations of time, as 
coexistent or successive, and we cannot do other- 
wise. The knowledge of time, like that of space, 
is necessarily a priori, as the antecedent condition 
of our experience and knowledge of that which is 
in time. 

Again, space and time being once presented to 
our consciousness, we cannot again divest our- 
selves of this form of consciousness. We cannot 
conceive the negative of space and time. They 
are immediate and necessary intuitions, including 
all other possible intuitions of sense, and being 
the necessary ground of possibility for all others. 
Time is inseparable from consciousness. The af- 
fections which in our consciousness we refer to self, 
are successive. The conscious self, as present in 
the successive states of consciousness, and contin- 
uously the same, is the necessary condition of our 
representation of time as successive. 

Though the intuitions of space and time may 
be excited in our consciousness, by occasion of our 
experience or perception of something in space 



304 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

and time, they are still therefore in their proper 
origin antecedent to, and the a priori ground of, 
all experience, and predetermine the conditions of 
our knowledge. They are implicitly contained as 
the ground form of whatever is known in our ex- 
perience, — space in our outward, and time in both 
our outward and inward experience. Thus we 
may abstract from our perception of any thing 
known, all those properties which affect us with 
the sense of reality in the phenomena of touch, 
taste, smell, &c, but its ground form as extended 
in space, or continuous in time, or both, still re- 
mains and cannot be abstracted. 

Thus we have an intuition of space and time, 
independently of any thing existing in space and 
time, and this is what is meant by pure sense. 

The intuition of objects existing in space and 
time, in those immediate affections of sense which 
are peculiar to the several organs of sense, as 
warmth, color, sound, &c, is distinguished from 
the former as empirical sense. 

Here, if we would distinguish accurately be- 
tween that which belongs to sense, in our imme- 
diate intuitions, and that which belongs to the 
higher powers of understanding and reason, seve- 
ral observations are necessary. 

1. An essential character of what pertains to 
sense is its manifoldness, and the mutual exclu- 
siveness of its parts. In the intuitions both of 
pure and of empirical sense, every part is out of 
and excludes every other part. In the objects of 
pure sense, time and space, the parts are alike ; 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. . 305 

but in the intuitions of empirical sense, there is an 
infinite manifoldness in quality, as well as quan- 
tity. Not only are the affections of the different 
senses unlike and exclusive of each other, but 
there is an infinite manifoldness in the quantity 
and quality of the affections and intuitions of the 
same sense. This is illustrated by the distin- 
guishableness of that which affects the sense in 
the tones of voice, to such an extent, that the 
blind man learns to distinguish persons without 
limit, by this alone. 

2. The sense takes cognizance only of the 
present and the individual, in the objects of empi- 
rical intuition, in distinction from that which is 
absent either in time or space, and from that 
which is general or universal. Thus the affections 
of sense are essentially transitional, and in a per- 
petual flux. The difficulty of understanding this, 
arises from our confounding what strictly pertains 
to the senses, with what results from the agency 
of other powers. I find myself at the present 
moment affected by a determinate impression of 
the sense of sight. I see what I have learned to 
call a piece of white paper. If I remove the pa- 
per, the sense is no longer affected by it. The 
image of it, which I may represent to the inner 
sense of the imagination, is then present to the 
inner sense as an image, which, by the exercise of 
another power, I refer to an absent object, and a 
past impression, of which it is the present repre- 
sentative. A reference of that which is present 
in the sensuous consciousness to the past and 
39 



306 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

future, or to the absent in space, does not pertain 
to the faculty of sense, but to the understanding. 
The empirical sense is limited to the present and 
the actual, as a passive receptivity of impressions ; 
and we can find in our consciousness of these, only 
what is given in the passive affections. Again, to 
illustrate the individuality of sensuous intuitions, 
as opposed to general conceptions ; suppose your- 
self looking at an object which you call a tree. 
Now the word tree will serve to express an indefi- 
nite number of intuitions, no one of which is iden- 
tical with that which you now see. The word 
tree, expresses a general conception, and does not 
serve to represent the present intuition. If you 
can designate it more particularly as an oak tree, 
your term is still general ; and when you have ex- 
hausted the powers of language, in seeking ade- 
quately to express what belongs to the sensuous 
intuition and distinguish it from other sensuous 
intuitions, there will still remain an infinity of 
particulars which belong to its individuality as an 
immediate object of sense, which may be thought 
of as distinguishable by thought, but which we 
have not yet attended to and designated by the 
faculty of thought, and by language. The distin- 
guishable in the immediate intuitions of sense is 
thus the inexhaustible material of thought, in itself 
infinitely manifold, and infinitely diversified. Each 
present intuition of each of the senses, is distin- 
guishable as an intuition of sense from every intu- 
ition of the other senses, and from every other in- 
tuition of the same sense, as other than these, and 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 307 

having its own distinctive individuality, and its 
own reality. 

3. Unity, therefore, and the principles by 
which the manifold in the intuitions of sense is 
combined together and represented as one, and 
by which the individual is referred to the general, 
do not belong to the faculty of sense. So far as 
space and time are, properly speaking, objects of 
sense, as implicitly contained in the intuitions of 
empirical sense, they are presented only as a man- 
ifoldness of parts, mutually exclusive, without a 
principle of union. Suppose I look upon an ex- 
tended landscape, and see its parts as coexisting 
in space. For the immediate intuition of sense, 
there are as many -distinguishable parts as there 
are points, each given in its position as related to 
the eye and to the other points in the sphere of 
vision, given also in its determinate qualities of 
form and color ; and what I wish to say here, is, 
that the faculty of sense furnishes no principle of 
unity, by which these manifold phenomena are 
presented and thought of as one, or as parts of 
one whole. So with relation to time. The affec- 
tions of sense, considered as successive, are repre- 
sented in our consciousness as a point in motion ; 
and each successive moment excludes from the 
sphere of immediate sensuous intuition, that which 
was present in the previous moment. 

4. That which belongs to the faculty of sense, 
as the passive receptivity of impressions, in its 
strict limitations, is to be distinguished, both from 
that which we perceive as necessary, ( the contrary 



308 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

of which is seen to be impossible, ) and from that 
which depends on the will. In an affection and 
intuition of sense, as when I open my eyes upon a 
window, I find myself conditioned, my conscious 
state modified in a precise and determinate man- 
ner, and have a precise and determinate intuition 
of a sensuous object. Its apparent extension, 
form, color, multiplicity and relation of parts, &c, 
as present in my intuition, are wholly independent 
of my own will. They are there before me ; and 
when I open my eyes, I see them, whether I will 
or not, with just these precise and determinate 
limitations of quantity or quality, neither more nor 
less; and no effort of thought or will can make them 
different as sensuous phenomena, from what I see 
them to be. I seem to myself to be the passive 
recipient of impressions ; to have the state of my 
consciousness affected by that over which I have 
no control. It presents itself, therefore, as an inde- 
pendent reality, of which I have the highest possi- 
ble certainty. My intuition contains the unequiv- 
ocal assertion of its reality in all its particulars. 
Again, my affection or intuition changes perhaps, 
with each successive moment, with the variation 
of the intensity or the direction of the light, or 
from other causes, and this too, independently of 
my voluntary agency. And thus, though I see 
and assert the reality of the phenomena here, and 
the existence of that which is present to the sense 
as independent of self, and so objective, I do not 
see or assert its necessity, or the impossibility of 
its being otherwise than it is at any given moment, 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 309 

or of its entire nonexistence. This is the charac- 
ter of all that is known empirically, or by means 
of the empirical sense. 

5. There is then, a wide difference between 
the functions of sense as an organ of empirical 
knowledge, in our immediate and merely sensuous 
intuitions of the manifold in space and time, and 
that which we have called pure sense, as an intu- 
ition of the a priori and necessary ground of expe- 
rience, under the forms of space and time. In the 
former, we experience a fact, and our knowledge 
is assertory. In the latter, we have an intuition of 
necessary truth, and our knowledge is apodictic ; 
I affirm not merely the fact that it is now so and 
so, but that it must of necessity be so, now and at 
all times. 

Again, in time and space, or what are called the 
intuitions of pure sense, w r e extend our view be- 
yond all the limits of experience, and represent 
them as infinite. We moreover combine the man- 
ifold intuitions of empirical sense, under the forms 
of time and space, and represent them as included 
and as composing one universe. 

Whence then come the ideas of necessity, of 
infinity, and of unity, in these representations ? 

Strictly speaking, only the qualities of objects 
corresponding to the distinctive perceptivity of 
the several senses, and empirically know T n as re- 
alities in space and time, are the objects of sensu- 
ous intuition ; and the a priori ground of the possi- 
bility of experience in the presentations of space 
and time, with the ideas of infinity and unity, be- 
long to the reason. 



310 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

Each of our senses has its distinct and peculiar 
objects in nature. The sense of sight perceives 
colors ; that of hearing, sounds ; that of smell, 
odors ; each so different in kind from all the rest, 
that if one sense be wanting, its immediate and 
proper objects can never be known by the sepa- 
rate or combined agency of all the rest. There is 
nothing in the perceptions of one to suggest, or in 
any way to connect with it, those of another. The 
principle of unity, therefore, must be referred to 
the unity of our reason. It is by the develope- 
ment of this, that we represent to ourselves space, 
which to the empirical sense is but an infinite 
manifoldness, or an infinite multiplicity of points, 
each extraneous to all the others, as being yet one 
space, of which all particular spaces are parts, and 
which therefore comprehends infinite manifoldness 
in unity. 

It is by the same principle of unity in reason, 
that we combine all the manifold variety of phe- 
nomena presented to the several senses in space, as 
belonging to and parts of one world, included iu 
space. Neither of these is perceived by the em- 
pirical sense ; but this mode of representing them 
originates in the mind with the dawn of reason, and 
we think of it as a necessary mode. It is not 
founded in experience, but is a priori. If we 
strive to represent the matter otherwise, we fail to 
do so, because the mind still assumes a higher 
unity in which all are included. Such is the 
spontaneous utterance of reason, the moment we 
are capable of rational insight, and take a rational 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 311 

view of the objects of knowledge. The same re- 
marks apply to our representation of time, and of 
the sequence of events in time. We represent 
time as one continuous succession of like parts, 
and cannot think of it as broken and severed into 
two or more. So of nature, as including the whole 
series of events in time. We represent it as an 
unbroken series ; and if we seek to do otherwise, 
our imaginations spontaneously fill up the interval 
and connect the one with the other, as necessarily 
parts of the same unity. 

If now we consider our representations of a 
limited and individual object in space and time, 
we shall find the process to be of a like kind. It 
includes three things clearly distinguishable. 

1. The intuitions of empirical sense, in the 
sensible qualities of the object. These are mani- 
fold, and as immediate phenomena of sense, are 
wholly dissimilar and disconnected. Sound has 
no affinity to color, nor hardness to the affections 
of smell. 

2. The intuition of space and time, in which 
these qualities are represented as existing object- 
ively each for itself. 

3. The union and comprehension of these sep- 
arate qualities, the immediate objects of the seve- 
ral senses, in a limited and determinate form and 
figure in space and time. 

Of the two first, nothing more need be said at 
present. By what process of the mind we come 
to represent sensible qualities under the determi- 
nate relations of figure and position in space and 



312 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

of duration in time, as in the third particular, needs 
further inquiry. 

Here it is important to observe the distinction 
between the immediate perception of the qualities 
of an object, which express its relations to the per- 
cipient as susceptible of being specifically affected 
by them, and the representation of its quantity, as 
determined by its extension and mathematical form 
and relations in space. 

Our perceptions of qualities generally give us, 
in the affections of the outer senses, a knowledge 
of reality, existing out of self and in space ; and, 
moreover, excite the spontaneous powers of the 
mind, not only to the contemplation of the unity, 
the several dimensions and the boundlessness of 
space, but also to the construction of mathemati- 
cal forms in space, each having its unity given to 
it by the mind itself. Now this power of the 
mind, thus freely and independently of the con- 
trol of the empirical sense, to construct forms in 
space, is called the productive imagination* No- 

* The simplest and most obvious import of the word imagina- 
tion is that which is suggested by its etymology. An image is 
the sensuous form and representation of an object, without the 
substance ; as a shadow, a picture, the colored image of an object 
reflected in a mirror, or formed by a lens. These are external to 
the mind: and, as well as the objects which they represent, be- 
long to the outer sense. The word image is also used to designate 
those representations of outward objects which are presented to 
the inner sense ; as, when I call to mind an absent friend, I have 
his image present to my inner sense. Rather, that which is so 
presented to my inner sense, when the abstract object is called to 
mind, is called an image : and the power of presenting and mak- 
ing use of such images is the imagination in the most obvious 
sense. Now such images are presented in the ordinary remem- 
brance of an object formerly known. An image is also presented 
in the casual succession of images, under the law of spontaneous 
association. 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 313 

thing is plainer than that this power can, indepen- 
dently of experience, produce mathematical forms 
and constructions without limit, in the exercise of 
its own activity, with only the postulates that are 
given in the immediate apprehension of space. 

This is an important point ; and the mathemat- 
ical intuition of forms and their relations in space 
is properly the common ground of all our know- 
ledge of distinct outward objects, and of our abil- 
ity to understand each other in regard to the iden- 
tity, the quantity and quality of objects. The 
mathematical intuitions of pure sense and the pro- 
ductive imagination enable us to give to the mani- 
fold empirical phenomena of an object, a syntheti- 
cal unity, by representing them as combined under 
a determinate figure in space. 

Here the mathematical form, as the construction 
of the productive imagination, and the object of 
pure sense, becomes the fixed and determinate lim- 
itation of the qualities which are referred to the 
object as an object of empirical sense. We can 
represent the qualities as varying in number and 
degree ; but the figure and position in space, as an 
object of pure sense, cannot be abstracted ; but 
remains as the fixed ground of reference and com- 
parison. The imagination, in representing the 
figure of an object, and its relations and bounda- 
ries, is excited, indeed, and guided, to some ex- 
tent, by the empirical affections of the senses of 
touch and sight ; but we can acquire distinct know- 
ledge only by reflexion upon the empirical phe- 
nomena, in their relations to possible forms con- 
40 



314 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

templated as objects of pure sense. It is by its 
freedom from the domination of the present and 
the actual in the immediate affections of empirical 
sense, and its activity in the construction and con- 
templation of the possible, that it furnishes the 
antecedent ground for such reflexion, for the com- 
parison of the empirical with the mathematical ; 
of the fleeting and indeterminate with the fixed 
and determinate ; and thus enables us to represent 
the actual under mathematical forms. Thus the 
spontaneous agency of the imagination and the 
intuitions of empirical sense furnish the form and 
matter of our knowledge of objects; and it is by 
observation and reflection, that our knowledge is 
rendered distinct. 

Here it is to be observed, that only the qualities 
are immediate in the intuitions of empirical sense, 
and that in them there is no principle of unity. 

Again, in the intuitions of pure sense, as be- 
longing to the passive sense alone, there is no 
unity, but infinite manifold ness. 

The representation of unity, the contemplation 
of the manifold as one, is an act of the mind it- 
self, grasping its object, and comprehending the 
many in a unity of consciousness. 

This representation of unity, or the power of 
comprehending many as one, belongs to the origi- 
nal form of the understanding, and is the subjec- 
tive condition of knowing. The mere presenta- 
tion of the manifold in the intuitions of empirical 
sense, is not knowledge ; but the material of a pos- 
sible knowledge, or that which may be known. 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 315 

The understanding apprehends and takes cogni- 
zance of it, according to its own inherent forms 
and powers of apprehension and of knowledge. 

The distinction of the subjective from the ob- 
jective, of the self from the not self, in the prima- 
ry act of self-consciousness, it has been already 
remarked, is the activity of the awakened power 
of thought. So the reference of that which is 
given in an immediate intuition of sense to self as 
one, or to an object considered as one, is an act of 
the understanding. The doing this is the uniting 
of the manifold in a unity of consciousness ; and 
this is the form under which the understanding 
takes cognizance of that which is presented as the 
material of knowledge. An object of knowledge 
for the understanding is that in which the mani- 
fold qualities of a sensuous intuition are combined 
in a unity of consciousness. We represent vari- 
ous distinct qualities, as extension, hardness, 
sweetness, whiteness, &c, as united in one and 
the same object. Each of these, as immediately 
affecting the sense, and contemplated as an objec- 
tive reality existing in space, I represent as having 
its reality, and as being substantiated, in a subject 
other than self and out of self, and therefore in 
space. Now I say, the understanding, in combin- 
ing these in a unity of consciousness, and at the 
same time giving them outwardness in space, re- 
fers many qualities to one and the same subject in 
one and the same space. But this other subject 
represented in space is the object of the under- 
standing ; and what is represented as an object in 



316 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

space, is of course extended and constructive by 
the imagination under the mathematical form, and 
determinations of pure sense as a figure ; and thus 
the empirical qualities of an object are presented 
as united in a form representable in space. 



CHAPTER VII. 

CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT. THE IN- 
NER SENSE AND ITS OBJECTS. 

The principal aim here is, to distinguish clearly 
between what is given in the immediate affections 
of sense as the passive receptivity of the mind, and 
what pertains to the higher power which takes 
cognizance of what is thus given. In the former, 
we have the material or object-matter of possible 
knowledge, as manifold as our susceptibility of im- 
pressions under all the forms and affections of 
sense ; in the latter, that agency of the mind which 
is excited by and directed to this, apprehending, 
knowing it, &x. Now to this higher agency there 
necessarily belongs a unity, inseparable from the 
unity of consciousness as expressed in the form, / 
think, I know. In the self, as knowing, there is 
no representation of manifoldness, but a simple 
unity. The manifold, as given in the intuitions of 
sense, I combine in one consciousness, or refer to 
self as one percipient. This is the necessary form 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 317 

of thought and of conscious knowledge. That 
which is given as the material of thought and of 
knowledge, is an intuition, and antecedent to the act 
of knowing, by which the manifold of the intui- 
tion is synthetically combined in a unity of con- 
scious perception. The act by which I represent 
the manifold in a unity, is an act of spontaneity, 
originating in the cognitive power, and does not 
belong to the sense. We can represent nothing 
in the immediate intuitions of sense as syntheti- 
cally combined, without having first combined it 
together by our own act. Whether we are con- 
scious of it or not, the representation of the union 
of many distinguishable qualities in one object 
does not come from the objects ; is not given in 
the affections of sense ; but proceeds from the un- 
derstanding itself. It is not meant to say that the 
object is not one, and that the synthesis is not real; 
but only that its unity is not among the qualities 
given in the affections of sense. Nor indeed is 
the unity and connexion of parts here intended, 
such as we learn by experience to exist in an or- 
ganized body, or by any particular bond of union 
in the object itself; but that which the under- 
standing spontaneously gives to whatever is pre- 
sented, and must give, in order to bring it within 
its apprehension and make it an object of knowl- 
edge. Thus we think of the sum of all outward 
existences as one universe; of the objects within 
the sphere of our vision as one prospect, one land- 
scape, &lc. ; and contemplate the particular objects 
embraced as parts of one whole. That we cannot 



318 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

do otherwise does not prove that the unity is given 
in the intuitions of sense ; but only that we do so 
by an act of spontaneity, and not an act of choice. 
The power of perception or apprehension, when 
excited by that which is present to the sense, acts 
spontaneously and independently of the will, as to 
the mode of apprehending it; just as the sense, 
when affected from without, acts spontaneously in 
the intuition of thatw T hich belongs to sense. The 
intuition of the manifold in the immediate af- 
fections of sense, is the spontaneous agency of 
the faculty of sense ; the apprehension of what 
is given in the intuition in a unity of conscious- 
ness, is the spontaneous act of the understanding, 
according to its own inherent laws of action. 
Neither the intuition of sense, nor the perception 
of the understanding, is under the direction of the 
will as it regards the laws of their agency. The 
agency of both is thus far immediate upon the 
presence of its object, and inseparable from it, and 
therefore, as it were, organic and antecedent to 
voluntary reflection. We can only, in regard to 
these agencies, reflect and make ourselves distinctly 
conscious of what we have done, after w r e have 
done it. Thus, in this case, w T e are not conscious 
of the synthesis of the distinguishable qualities of 
an object as our own act; but the subsequent ana- 
lysis which we make of the object as apprehended 
by the understanding, proves an antecedent syn- 
thesis, and we distinguish by analysis, only what 
we had combined in the synthesis. Here observe, 
that all the qualities so combined, are given in the 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 319 

intuition ; and it is only the synthesis or putting 
together of these in what the understanding pre- 
sents to itself as one object, that originates in the 
act of the understanding ; and all that analysis can 
do again, is to dissolve the unity, and distinguish 
the original qualities given in the intuition. The 
union of many in one is not properly an additional 
particular, to be enumerated with the several par- 
ticulars so united. Nor does the representation of 
unity arise from a perceived connexion of the sev- 
eral parts or particulars, but that of connexion rather 
from the antecedent unity. It must therefore 
be sought for in that agency of the understanding, 
which, from its own subjective nature, must be the 
same for all the objects of its apprehension, and 
independent of any ground of the representation in 
the nature of the objects so apprehended. 

Here it may be necessary, in order to avoid mis- 
conception, to mark more clearly another distinc- 
tion ; that, I mean, between the subjective and the 
objective unity of our perception. 

By the subjective unity of a perception, it is 
meant to express the identity of the conscious per- 
ceiving, as directed to the several distinguishable 
particulars in an object. It is the same self and 
the same agency, that apprehends the several qual- 
ities of an object as coexisting in space, or as suc- 
cessive in time. The thought, that all the several 
particulars given in an intuition belong to me, con- 
stitutes the subjective unity of a perception. It 
combines the manifold in the affections of sense 
in one act of self-consciousness, and I represent 



320 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

them all as my affections. There is an identity 
of the conscious percipient in all ; otherwise, self 
would be as manifold as the qualities of the objects 
of sense of which I am conscious. 

The objective unity of a perception, on the other 
hand, is the representation of the immediate qual- 
ities perceived in an intuition, not as having an 
identity of relation to me, but as having a mutual 
relation and connexion with each other as quali- 
ties of one object. Again, in its objective unity, 
an object of perception has its determinate posi- 
tion and direction in space, and stands in relation 
to other objects. It is necessarily represented un- 
der the mathematical forms and relations of pure 
sense, and has its extension, figure, &c, determined 
for the percipient by the constructive agency of 
the imagination. As such, and so determined, it 
becomes a distinct object of the understanding, as 
distinguished from sense, and an object of percep- 
tion as distinguished from intuition. The intui- 
tion is the immediate presentation of the manifold 
in the affections of sense ; the perception is the pre- 
sentation of the many as one objective thing, com- 
bining manifoldness in unity. 

The same remarks which have been made re- 
specting our apprehension of that which we pre- 
sent to ourselves as existing in space, will apply, 
for the most part, to our apprehension of objects 
as existing in time. Whatever is present, either 
to the outer or to the inner sense, is necessarily 
represented as existing in time, or as having dura- 
tion ; and the same distinction between pure and 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 321 

empirical sense manifests itself, as in regard to ex- 
istence in space. The same distinction holds also 
between the manifoldness of what affects the em- 
pirical sense and the unity of consciousness under 
which it is apprehended by the understanding. 
The successive moments, and therein distinguish- 
able parts of duration in time, are apprehended as 
combined to make up one time; or those within 
given limits, as one period of time, one day, and 
one hour, &c. ; and thus an object is apprehended 
(abstractly from its qualities, which affect the sev- 
eral senses empirically), as having extension, fig- 
ure and duration, mathematically determinable in 
space and time ; and an objective unity, combining 
in one object a manifoldness of parts and properties 
analytically distinguishable from each other. 

2. The term inner sense, as distinguished from 
the outer senses already treated of, properly desig- 
nates the immediate consciousness of the states and 
agencies of our own inward being. As I have an 
immediate intuition of the qualities of outward 
objects, as color, hardness, &c, which I refer to a 
ground of being out of self, so I have an immediate 
intuition of affections and agencies, which I refer 
to self, as their proper ground and source ; such as 
the feeling of pleasure and pain, desiring, willing, 
and the activities of thought. 

It is not, however, to be understood, that yve 
mean by this language to indicate a specific sense, 
having its distinct organ, like the several external 
senses. It is meant only that the states and agen- 
cies of our inward life are immediately present to 
41 



322 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

our consciousness, as the passive material of 
knowledge, and so apprehensible to the under- 
standing ; in the same way as the immediate af- 
fections and intuitions of the outer senses are ap- 
prehensible. When we direct the attention of the 
understanding to what is passing in our own being, 
we find the objects of attention presented for ob- 
servation in a form which has all the characteris- 
tics (in its relation to the apprehensive faculty) 
which were before enumerated as pertaining to 
sense. As present in our immediate consciousness, 
or in the inner sense, they are manifold, immedi- 
ate and individual, present and actual, as the mate- 
rial of knowledge, and distinguishable from that 
agency of the reflective understanding which takes 
cognizance of them. They are presented, not as 
extended and objective in space, admitting of con- 
struction by figure, and so picturable to the outer 
sense, but as continuous in time, and capable of 
being designated and reproduced in our conscious- 
ness. 

An essential difference here between what per- 
tains to the affections of the outer and what we 
speak of as the inner sense, is, that while the ob- 
jects affecting the outer senses exist independently 
of our agency, and require only that the senses be 
directed to them, and the attention excited, in 
order to be perceived, those that belong to the 
inner sense are our own agencies, and exist only 
so long as the mind is in act, or actually affected, 
conditioned in the manner which we wish to ob- 
serve. When the feeling of pleasure or pain, or 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 323 

a* 

the act of desiring, willing, thinking, &c, has 
ceased, it no longer exists as an object of the inner 
sense ; and how can we have a sensuous intuition 
of that which has no existence, or a perception of 
that of which we have no intuition ? 

It is only, therefore, by reproducing and bring- 
ing again into the conscious presence of the inner 
sense, our past states of consciousness, by the ac- 
tivity of our own minds, that they can become 
possible objects of attention and observation. This 
is done either spontaneously by the law of associ- 
ation, or voluntarily by the control of the will over 
the faculty of thought. 

Thus, whatever I have once been conscious of 
as a state of my own inward being, may be repro- 
duced in mv consciousness : and whatever has 
such a connexion with my inward being as to be 
potentially reproducible in my consciousness by 
the activity of my own reproductive and represen- 
tative faculty, may be said to belong to the inner 
sense, and to be a part of the internal world ; as 
whatever exists in space, so as to be potentially an 
object of outward intuition, belongs to the outer 
sense, and to the external world of sense. 

It will be seen from this view, that we include 
among the objects of the inner sense those agen- 
cies of the soul which have for their object the 
outer world of sense. Thus I present to myself 
an absent object of sight, a house, a tree, &c, 
whether in a dream, a reverie, or by a voluntary 
act of thought; and I picture it as outward, in 
space, with all its surrounding accompaniments. 



324 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

Here the agency itself has or may have an out- 
ward object perceptible to the external senses. 
But that which is now actually present to the 
mind is not the outward object itself, nor is it pres- 
ent to the outer sense, but a representative image 
of it only, the work of the reproductive imagina- 
tion ; and this image, which exists only so long as 
the imagination presents it, belongs only to the in- 
ner sense or the inward consciousness. It has no 
reality out of the mind ; and as an object of the 
inner sense, is a sensuous image or representative 
of an outward object, having the same relation to 
the inner sense which the object itself has to the 
outer sense. As an act of the reproductive imagi- 
nation, it has the same reality for the inner sense 
that the object itself has for the outer sense. Thus 
all the reproduced images of the outer world, con- 
sidered as representative acts of the imagination, 
in dreams, &c, and reflected upon by the under- 
standing, are presented to its apprehension as sen- 
suous and present in the inner sense. 

The same remarks of course apply to all the 
agencies and states of the mind, in doing and suf- 
fering, in thought, desire, and will. Considered 
as objects of the reflective understanding, they are 
presented for its apprehension in that immediate 
consciousness of the inward phenomena of our own 
being which is termed the inner sense. 

The inward life and activities of the soul are 
subjected to our observation and conscious notice. 
I not only feel pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow, 
love and hate, desire and will, think, imagine, &c, 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 325 

but can make all these agencies themselves the 
objects of the reflective understanding ; can ap- 
prehend and fix my attention upon them as objects 
of study and of knowledge. Their presentation 
in the inner sense or immediate consciousness is 
the beginning and primary condition of self-knowl- 
edge, as the presence of the material world to the 
outer sense is the condition of our knowledge of 
that. 

But the point of most importance, here, is to 
distinguish clearly between what pertains to sense, 
or is sensuous, and the proper agencies and pro- 
ducts of thought, or of the understanding as the 
faculty of thought. Whatever is presented as im- 
mediate and individual in our consciousness for the 
attention and apprehension of the understanding, 
and so as the object matter of its cognitive agency, 
belongs as such to the sense ; while that which is 
derived from it, by comparison, abstraction, &c, 
in the form of general conceptions, belongs to the 
understanding, as the product of its agency em- 
ployed upon the immediate intuitions of sense. 
Following this distinction, not only the original in- 
tuitions, whether of the outer or of the inner 
sense, but the re-presentation of these in their 
manifoldness by the agency of the imagination or 
representative faculty, is also sensuous ; and such 
a re-presentation is not a conception, but an image 
of sense merely ; and the mere reproduced sensu- 
ous image, like the original intuition, is not knowl- 
edge, but only the material of a possible knowl- 
edge. 



326 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

It may be remarked here, that the objects of the 
inner sense are embraced in the general form of 
self-consciousness, or are recognized as existing in 
self; as the objects of the outer senses are re- 
ferred to a ground out of self, and recognized as 
existing in space. This consciousness of self, as 
the ground and presuppositum of those phenomena 
which I refer to self, is termed pure and a priori 
self-consciousness, as the necessary a priori ground 
of our knowledge of the particular modifications 
of self, as the intuition of space is the necessary 
antecedent ground of our representation of objects 
as existing in space. The conscious / am is ne- 
cessarily involved as an antecedent in every quali- 
fied determination of consciousness which makes 
known to me how and what I am. To this, too, 
pertains that representation of self, or the conscious 
7, by which all my individual and successive feel- 
ings, desires, thoughts, &c, are presented and 
combined as the activities of one and the same in- 
dividual. What are the possible modifications and 
agencies of that self of which we are conscious, 
can be known only by experience in the progres- 
sive developement of its powers, and by making 
ourselves conscious of those agencies as manifested 
in the inner sense. Here they may be more or 
less distinctly manifested, or our power of attend- 
ing to and apprehending the phenomena there pre- 
sented may be greater or less, according to age 
and habits of thought, or to the general discipline 
and power of the understanding. 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 327 

In general, it may be said, the phenomena pre- 
sented to the inner sense, like those of the outer 
world, are in a state of perpetual flux, varying 
with every fluctuation of the powers of our inward 
life, and the numberless influences which serve to 
repress or to excite them. To most men, too, it 
is an unknown world, as their observation and 
their thoughts are directed exclusively to the world 
without; and it is only by careful discipline of the 
understanding, and great precision in the use of it 
acquired by philosophical reflection, and a critical 
discrimination of terms, that we can seize upon 
and trace the phenomena of our inward being. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

MEMORY AND POWER OF ASSOCIATION. 

Thus far, in treating of the powers of knowl- 
edge, we have considered only those agencies by 
which we have an immediate perception of a pres- 
ent object, as existent in time and space. The dis- 
tinctive characteristic of these is, that they are 
accompanied with a sense of reality, and an irre- 
sistible conviction of the actual present existence 
of the object perceived, as it is perceived, and in- 
dependent of the act of perception. The imme- 
diate affections of sense in these agencies are pas- 



328 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY, 

sive and involuntary; and what is given in the 
sense is apprehended by the understanding, as de- 
termined so and so in all its modifications of quan- 
tity, quality and relation, and existing at this pre- 
cise time and place. 

We proceed now to the consideration of other 
agencies and other modes in which the mind pre- 
sents to itself the objects of its attention. In 
these, the mind is more or less freed from the im- 
mediate and absolute domination of sense and the 
law of outward necessity ; and they form a sort of 
transition from the passive determination of sense 
to the freedom of voluntary thought. These, ac- 
cording to the common use of language, may be 
designated, in their general character, as the mem- 
ory, the power of association, and the fancy or 
imagination. But without attempting at present 
to use these terms with precision, either as they 
are or as they should be employed, I shall aim 
merely to point out the more important distinc- 
tions in things, as they are verified in our own 
consciousness. 

1. The power of simple sensuous re-presenta- 
tion of a past intuition of sense, or, in general, of 
a past state of consciousness. 

When, by those agencies which have been al- 
ready treated of, w T e have had an immediate per- 
ception of the objects of knowledge, either in the 
presentation of the outer or of the inner sense as 
present to the sense, we can afterwards re-present 
and contemplate them as past and absent. If, in 
travelling, I pass a house upon the road, and ob- 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 329 

serve it, have a distinct perception of it, my mind 
can afterwards, when the object is now distant or 
no longer in existence, re-present the house and 
make it again the object of attention. 

But observe, that in this simple representation, 
the present agency of the mind is determined by 
the past consciousness. It is merely, as it were, a 
recurrence of a past state of consciousness, not 
now as actual, indeed, but as representative, yet 
limited and determined in all its particulars by the 
actual past. The mind exercises no freedom of 
construction, but presents to itself the past and 
absent object as it was, with all its attendant cir- 
cumstances of time, place, &c. In regard to its 
object, the mind is equally passive as in the im- 
mediate perception of the house when present to 
the outer sense. That which is now present to 
the mind is the simple counterpart or the repre- 
sentative image of that which was before present. 
Such a re-presentation of a past consciousness 
may be called either simple memory, or referred to 
the re-productive imagination. In its relation to 
our powers of knowledge, it may be considered as 
the reserved copy of an actual experience, reserved 
in the mind, and capable of being re-presented as 
an object of attention, and as containing the sen- 
suous material of knowledge for the understand- 
ing ; and the more perfectly it re-presents the ac- 
tual past, i. e., the more entirely the present act 
of the mind as representative is passively deter- 
mined by the past as real, the more perfectly does 
it subserve the purposes of the understanding. 
42 



330 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

2. But again, the mind can present to itself a 
modified image of the past, or a part only of a past 
object without the remainder. This is done in- 
voluntarily, in the imperfect and indistinct repre- 
sentations which we make of our past experience. 
Thus, in the illustration above given, I may repre- 
sent the house without being able to fix the time 
and place in which I observed it ; or I may recall 
these and have but an indistinct image of the form, 
color, size, &c, of the house itself. Here is an 
involuntary modification of the original conscious- 
ness. The present image, as representative, only 
partially represents the past and real, or presents 
it with the abstraction of more or less of that 
which belonged to the original. Here we have 
the distinction of remembering and forgetting, and 
our ability or inability to re-present a past object 
of perception ; and the degree of clearness and 
perfection with which 1 am able to represent it, 
depends upon various circumstances, both in the 
original activity of the mind in the perception, and 
in its present agency. In the progress of our ex- 
perience, the mind becomes stored with the images 
of the past, forming for each individual a world of 
his own, in which he expatiates, or the parts of 
which rise and fall, as it were, present themselves 
clearly and adequately, or vaguely and imperfectly, 
in the horizon of his present consciousness, and 
supply him with the materials of thought and 
knowledge. An important point to be observed 
here is, that in the modified and partially abstract- 
ed images of the past, the mind is already to 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 331 

some extent freed from the domination of the im- 
mediate impressions of sense. 

3. The images which the mind has thus 
formed, which had their origin in, and were repre- 
sentative of, immediate and individual objects of 
sense, become wholly freed from the order in time 
and place, and from the connexion with each other 
which they had as strictly representative of past 
reality ; and are spontaneously recombined in a 
different order in time and place, and in new com- 
binations with each other. Thus if, after passing 
one house upon the road, I pass another of differ- 
ent size, form, color, &c, I may afterwards re-pre- 
sent the latter as antecedent in my experience to 
the former, and combine in the representative im- 
age the color of one with the figure and situation 
of the other ; or their qualities, without regard to 
time and place, may be transferred and recombined 
with each other, and with the qualities of other 
objects without limit. In a word, the combina- 
tions of distinguishable particulars, as presented in 
our actual experience, are dissolvable in the inward 
agencies of the mind, and the particulars reprodu- 
cible under new arrangements and combinations 
without limit, as we experience in our dreams and 
our waking reveries, and witness in the effects of 
delirium, &c. 

4. In the new arrangements and combinations 
which take place in the spontaneous reproduction 
of these sensuous images, we trace the operation 
of certain principles by which they are deter- 
mined, and which constitute what is called the 
law of association* 



332 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

The substance of this law in general, as the law 
of spontaneous association, is, that images or par- 
tial images of past states of consciousness have a 
tendency, when present in our consciousness, to 
recall others by relations subsisting among them- 
selves, and independently of voluntary effort. 
Thus, in our dreams, and whenever the spontane- 
ous activity of the mind is left free from the con- 
trol of the will and the interference of voluntary 
thought, we find one image calls up another, and 
a continuous succession of phenomena float before 
the inner sense. These, indeed, are not composed 
wholly of images of the outer sense ; but what- 
ever has preexisted in our consciousness may be 
represented and affect the present succession. Not 
only so ; the present state of feeling, as cheerful or 
melancholy, may have its influence in determining 
the character of the associated imagery ; and this 
again may have a reciprocal influence upon the 
tone of the mind itself. 

The most general principle, in regard to the 
tendency of one object to recall another, is, that 
whatever affections have once coexisted in our con- 
sciousness, as parts of one total impression or state 
of consciousness, acquire thereby a tendency mu- 
tually to reproduce each other. Thus, if, while 
observing the house upon the road, I was convers- 
ing with a fellow traveller, not only all the out- 
ward circumstances would tend each to recall, 
when re-presented to the mind, all the others, but 
the subjects of our conversation, and the images 
which that brought before the mind, would become 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 333 

associated with the house, and tend to recall it. 
A single word, or tone, or momentary feeling, if 
afterwards heard, or felt, or represented, may serve 
to bring the whole scene or any particular part of 
it again before the mind. 

Subordinate to this general principle, (1.) one 
image will tend more or less strongly to recall an- 
other, in proportion to the strength of the original 
impressions, and of the connexion which was 
formed between them as parts of one total impres- 
sion. Thus, if two objects of novel and peculiar 
interest are present and occupy my mind, as two 
distinguished persons, for example, at the same 
time or in immediate succession, one will thereby 
acquire a tendency always to recall the other. 
(2.) This tendency will depend upon the relation 
of the present state and tone and occupation of 
my mind to the object to be associated, and a par- 
ticular image will excite this or that other image 
of objects originally forming parts of the same to- 
tal impression, according as one or the other is 
most consonant to its present state. When cheer- 
ful, the same image would suggest a different 
train of associated images from what it w T ould 
w r hen melancholy. (3.) The principle of similar- 
ity in the original affections of consciousness has 
an influence upon the succession of the train of 
representations. Affections of one sense tend 
rather to recall each other, than the affections of 
another sense ; sounds suggest other sounds, colors 
other colors, &c. In general, the nearer the affin- 
ity of representations to each other, the greater is 



334 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

their tendency, other things being equal, to asso- 
ciate each other. 

We may enumerate, in addition to these, the 
principle of order, of contrast, &c, but it is more 
important to remark that all the agencies of the 
mind are connected together as manifestations of 
one inward life ; and the excitement of one power 
has a tendency in a greater or less degree to ex- 
cite every other. The present feelings influence 
the associations of the past ; and whether in a mu- 
sing mood or in a dream, this or that particular 
train of imagery, this or that incident in our past 
history, this or that picture of life originally formed 
in the mind by the chance medley of a dream or a 
novel, shall be now brought back to our conscious- 
ness, depends upon contingencies that can be re- 
duced to no general rule. 

The clearness and vividness with which we re- 
present past intuitions and states of consciousness 
depend upon several circumstances; as, (1.) the 
force and distinctness of the original impression ; 
(2.) the fitness of the occasion to reproduce in all 
its parts what constituted the original state of con- 
sciousness ; and, (3.) the present vigor of the mind 
and activity of the reproductive imagination itself; 
(4.) state of health and affections of the organic 
system. 

In genera], if one part of a total and complex 
impression of sense, as one distinct object in a 
landscape, awakens a strong interest and produces 
a vivid impression, the remainder will produce but 
a feeble one ; or if a variety of strong impressions 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 335 

are produced at the same time, they tend to con- 
fuse each other ; and these different effects will be 
obvious in the subsequent representations. 

It is only by the power of association, or the 
tendency of a present consciousness to reproduce 
former experiences, that the accumulated stores of 
past observation and experience are treasured up 
in our minds ; and in this way, as we have reason 
to suppose, all the materials of each one's past 
history are so linked together as to be capable of 
being represented to our consciousness. If so, 
then nothing is in such a sense forgotten as to be 
wholly lost from our minds ; and we often find 
that what at one time we could not recall by any 
effort of recollection, will at another, without an 
effort, and by the spontaneous power of associa- 
tion, be brought clearly and vividly to mind. 

In common language, however, we are said to 
have forgotten a thing, when we cannot recall it 
by the voluntary effort of the understanding in di- 
recting the train of associations. 

On the other hand, the power of memory, more 
strictly defined, is the faculty of re-presenting to 
the mind what has been before present to it, with 
the consciousness that it has been so. We may 
distinguish, here, the case in which we merely are 
conscious that what is now present has been be- 
fore present, and that in which we refer it to its 
original connexions in time and place. 

From the law of association, also, in part, arises 
the formation of habits, and the anticipation of 
the future. When the same process in which 



336 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

either the agencies of the mind alone, or those of 
the mind and body together are concerned, has 
been often repeated, each antecedent act excites 
and reproduces its consequent by immediate and 
spontaneous association, without an effort of thought 
or of will. So, in regard to the future, when we 
have seen phenomena often succeed each other in 
a certain order, the occurrence of the antecedent 
awakens the representation of the consequent in 
the same relation of time, i. e., as yet future. By 
this passive or rather spontaneous association with 
the present of that which is yet future, even the 
brutes have the power of foresight. 

Thus far, I have spoken of the law of associa- 
tion as a principle of spontaneity ; and of memory 
and imagination chiefly as dependent on this, and 
spontaneously reproducing the past in our con- 
sciousness. In this form, merely, they exhibit 
only the uncultivated and rude nature of man, as 
it is common to him with the brutes. Left to this 
alone, he would be wholly the creature of circum- 
stances, directed by sensuous impulses, over which 
he could have no power of control. 

But, practically speaking, the will and the un- 
derstanding in every one, with the first dawn of 
conscious intelligence, controls and modifies, in a 
greater or less degree, the law of spontaneous as- 
sociation. It was before remarked, that, even in 
the spontaneous agencies of the mind, the order 
and combinations presented in our actual experi- 
ence are dissolved, and new arrangements and 
combinations produced. 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 337 

I proceed now to remark, that the association of 
objects presented to us can be influenced by the 
will, and that we can, by voluntary efforts of the 
understanding, determine the order and the con- 
nexion of that which is treasured up in our mem- 
ories. Thus, among the particulars presented in a 
total impression to the outer senses, or at the same 
time present to the inner sense, we can at will fix 
the attention upon an individual or upon any por- 
tion of the whole, abstract it from the rest, and 
connect it or associate it by voluntary thought with 
whatever else we are able to bring before our con- 
sciousness. If our attention, for example, be fixed 
upon a ship, as part of a scene presented either to 
the outer or to the inner sense, we can think of it 
in its relation to science or art, or in its relation to 
natural scenery, and determine its associations ac- 
cordingly, in its relation to our former stores of 
knowledge. In this way, I determine, in a greater 
or less degree, by my own voluntary effort, my 
subsequent ability to remember it, and the associa- 
tions by means of which I shall be able to recall 
it. It is by this higher power of thought, directed 
to the objects present in the horizon of our con- 
sciousness, that we are able to choose and limit 
the objects that shall occupy our minds ; shut out 
intruding associations; and thus pursue a fixed 
purpose, and give a predetermined method to the 
succession of associated thought and imagery. 
Thus the spontaneous agencies of the mind are 
gradually brought under methodical arrangement, 
determined by the prevailing habits of thought ; 
43 



338 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

and even our dreams give proof of the mode in 
which our waking hours are employed, and of the 
degree in which our minds are disciplined and cul- 
tivated. 

The influence of the power of attention, both 
in fixing particular states of consciousness or par- 
ticular objects in our memories, and in rendering 
our associations methodical, is of the highest im- 
portance. The power to select, among the num- 
berless objects present to our consciousness, that 
which is suited to a preconceived purpose, with the 
exclusion of the rest ; to retain it against the force 
of the natural current of spontaneous association ; 
is that which renders us capable of self-cultivation 
and self-control. By this, we are able to rise 
above the law of mere brute nature, and direct the 
agencies of our minds to the accomplishment of 
purposes which reason prescribes. 

The voluntary activity of the mind is no less 
distinguished above its spontaneous agencies, in 
what we have called the productive imagination. 
In its spontaneous agencies, it was remarked that 
it often produced new combinations among the 
images of the past, as in our dreams, etc. But 
these are rather the product of nature working in 
us, than our own work. They are the results, re- 
vealed in our consciousness, of powers which lie 
beyond the reach of our immediate and voluntary 
control, no less than the organic agencies of the 
nervous and arterial systems. 

But the imagination, in its higher functions, is 
the power by which we are able voluntarily to 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

present to ourselves images, constructed and com- 
bined otherwise than they are given to us in our 
experience. If my mind were absolutely limited 
by my actual experience, and I could only re-pre- 
sent the actual past, then a series of objects, seen 
to exist in only one order and mode of combina- 
tion, could not be presented by the mind to itself 
in any other mode. The objects a, b, c, if known 
in our experience only in the order of succession 
in which they are given, would always be repre- 
sented in the same order ; and there could arise 
in the mind no occasion for the distinction be- 
tween the actual and the possible. But we know 
not only that the spontaneous law of association 
may represent them in a different order, but that 
we can arrange and combine them, in the images 
which we present to ourselves at will, without re- 
gard to the order in which they were known in 
our experience, and thus make ourselves conscious 
of the distinction between the actual and the pos- 
sible. 

Thus the imagination is not at all limited in its 
agencies, by the forms and combinations of the 
real world of our experience ; but those images 
which are first furnished by the intuitions of sense, 
we can, by an exertion of voluntary power, shape 
and combine together, and present to the inner 
sense in an endless variety of forms. We can re- 
present an individual object, like the sun for ex- 
ample, as multiplied or enlarged, and think of the 
sky as filled with a thousand suns. When we see 
an object of a red color, we can represent to our- 



340 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

selves that color as extended to other objects, and 
spread over all that surrounds us. So we can re- 
present the qualities of an object, as abstracted 
one after another, till the whole disappears, and is 
represented as non-existent. 

In all its creations, however, the imagination is 
limited in regard to the materials of its workman- 
ship to that which is given in the intuitions of pure 
and empirical sense. However free the play of 
imagery in fictitious representations may be, the 
imagination, under the control of the will, can only 
contribute the form and method in which the ma- 
terials already given are combined together. 
Hence the man born blind can combine in the 
creations of his imagination no representations of 
color, nor the deaf of sounds. Thus all the mate- 
rials are from the empirical sense ; the form and 
principle of combination in space and time, from 
the mind itself. 

A distinction of great importance is made here, 
between the mere aggregations of forms and 
imagery, and that agency of the imagination in 
which the imagery is strictly subordinated to the 
expression of a pre-conceived idea. The former 
agency is distinguished by some as the fancy, the 
other as the imagination, in its proper sense. It 
is the office of the former to collect and call up 
as it were the images of the inner sense, as the 
materials by which the creative ideas of the imag- 
ination are to be expressed or realized. 

The power to distinguish the possible from the 
actual, and to present to ourselves a scene or com- 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 341 

bination of circumstances, as possible, differing 
from and better than the real, is the ground of 
hope, and the exciting cause of all effort to im- 
prove our condition. It is the guide of the under- 
standing, as it were, in presenting beforehand the 
objects not yet existing, which the understanding 
contrives the means of attaining. 

It is this power, also, that constructs those 
figures which are the necessary objects of the un- 
derstanding, in seeking after general truths, as the 
basis of its conceptions. We abstract from the 
individual images of sense their distinctive charac- 
ters, and present a general outline that applies to 
several individual objects in common. When we 
use a general term, as man, house, tree, &c, we 
bring before our mind a sensuous representation of 
it, that serves to designate the meaning of the 
word, without including the characters which dis- 
tinguish individuals of the species named from 
each other. Or rather, perhaps, the imagination 
enlightens the understanding here, by presenting 
varying forms, or differing individual images of the 
class, each of which includes the characters com- 
bined in the general conception, with the con- 
sciousness of the distinction between the concep- 
tion and the individualized image. This will be 
best exemplified by reference to the construction 
of geometrical forms, all which are the work of 
the productive imagination. When we represent 
to ourselves the meaning of the word triangle, 
ellipse, &c, it is by constructing figures, each of 
which includes the characters combined in the 



342 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

definition, with the consciousness that they are 
only inclusive of the conception, while the indi- 
vidual peculiarities of each are unessential.* 

Again, the activity of the imagination is neces- 
sary to invention, in the useful as well as in the 
fine arts ; since whatever is to be realized, must 
first be presented by the imagination as a possi- 
ble construction. 



CHAPTER IX. 



RECAPITULATION. 



Before proceeding to treat more particularly of 
the understanding as the power of voluntary 
thought, let us review very briefly what has been 

* A scheme, as constituting the identity of a conception in dif- 
ferent minds, and the ultimate ground of community in language, 
can exist only in the common method, or rule of representation, 
by which the imagination is directed in producing images of 
objects included under a general term. An individual object can 
be subsumed under a general conception, only as it has in it that 
which is identical in kind with the conception itself; i. e., as it is 
generated, in the mode of conscious representation, by the same 
method, by the same rule of generation in the productive imagi- 
nation. 

Different minds are brought to a mutual understanding of terms, 
as designating a determinate agency in consciousness as common 
to them all. Thus the images which A and B present to them- 
selves, when the word triangle is used, are not identical, and 
may be widely diverse. How then, since they represent the 
word, each by the image in his own mind, does it mean for them 
the same thing? It does so, only as they are able to determine a 
method in the productive agency of the imagination, by which the 
image is constructed, and in the identity of the method is found 
the basis of intelligibility in the use of the word. 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 343 

said of the powers of knowledge. I wish to do 
so, chiefly, for the purpose of bringing together into 
one view the leading distinctions which have been 
made, and stating, more technically perhaps, the 
terms by which I shall usually designate them. 

1. In speaking of the powers of knowledge, 
we mean those agencies of the mind whose func- 
tion it is to know, or by whose activity we pre- 
sent to our consciousness, under some form, that 
which pertains to our knowing, as distinguished 
from designing and willing. 

2. To know is a verb active, and necessarily 
implies a something known. Every exercise of 
the powers of knowledge, therefore, involves the 
distinction of an act, and an object on which that 
act terminates. 

3. That on which a specific act terminates, as 
its specific correlative, is its immediate object. 
The object, according to its etymology and the 
sense here given it, is that which lies opposite or 
over against the agent. 

In order to render more obvious the distinction 
of immediate in our knowing, I must anticipate, in 
a word, an account of that which is mediate, as 
contrasted with it. When I have formed a pre- 
vious conception, no matter by what method, and 
by means of that, as applied to the objects around 
me, call this object of sense a triangle, that an ap- 
ple, &c, my knowledge that the one is a triangle 
and the other an apple, is through the medium of 
the conceptions previously formed and present in 
the understanding ; and this knowledge is, there- 



344 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

fore, mediate. Now the intuition of that to which 
the conception is applied is antecedent to and inde- 
pendent of the act by which we determine what it 
is, as coming under this or that determining con- 
ception. 

4. That faculty by which we present to our- 
selves, or become conscious of the presence of, 
that in our knowledge which is thus antecedent to 
the determining of what it is, of that which is 
knowable in distinction from the act of knowing, 
is the faculty of sense. 

In this strict employment of terms, therefore, 
the sense does not know, but is the organ by which 
we present to ourselves the material of knowledge. 
It is the receptive faculty, the vis receptiva of the 
mind ; and that which is present in the sense is a 
something given, of which the sense is the passive 
recipient. 

5. The act of receiving, here, however, in what 
is denominated the passive reciptivity of the sense, 
is, nevertheless, an act, and supposes a specific 
power of action. To be receptive of the impres- 
sions of color, sound, &x., implies a specific sus- 
ceptibility, not belonging to inanimate things. In 
every conscious affection of sense, therefore, there 
is a present determination of the passive suscepti- 
bility of impressions, as in the affections of red- 
ness, sweetness, hardness, &c. 

6. In these determinations of our conscious- 
ness, we have the most immediate and original 
union or coincidence of the self with the not self; 
of the subjective and the objective ; and distin- 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 345 

guish, in the same state of consciousness, the acts 
of seeing, feeling, hearing, &c, from the imme- 
diate correlatives of these in the qualities seen, 
felt, heard, &c. 

In these immediate and passive affections of our 
consciousness ; in these agencies of the vis recep- 
tiva, in which we thus distinguish the conscious 
seeing, tasting, &c, from a somewhat seen, tasted, 
&e., consists the feeling which we have of exist- 
ence of something real and actual. In every such 
state of consciousness, there is an affirmation, a 
certainty of the reality, not only of the acts of 
seeing, &c, but of the somewhat seen, insepara- 
ble from the consciousness itself. 

7. That in our immediate affections of sense, 
which we are conscious of as our own act, we re- 
fer to self, as the abiding ground of its reality ; 
and that which we are conscious of as present to 
the sense, but not as originating in our own agen- 
cy, we refer to a ground of reality out of self. 
That out of self, to which we thus refer what is 
immediately present in our consciousness, is an 
object of perception ; and the affections of sense 
which we refer to it are its qualities, and express 
the relations between the object and our suscepti- 
bility of impressions, or the modes in which it is 
presentable to our minds. 

8. Again, whatever is a possible object of 
knowledge for us, must be, in some mode, presen- 
table in our consciousness, as the condition of 
its being known. Now the various forms and im- 
pressions of sense, are the modes of presentation 
44 



346 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

in which whatever is existent in time and space 
can alone manifest itself to us and become appre- 
hensible as an object of knowledge. 

9. All our powers of knowledge are originally 
excited and called into conscious action by the 
affections and excitements of sense ; and all the 
original materials of our knowledge are given in 
the immediate consciousness of sensuous affections, 
either of the outer or of the inner sense, and are 
presented as existing under the forms and relations 
of space and time, or, in regard to the objects of 
the inner sense, of time alone. This proposi- 
tion must be understood as limited to knowledge 
founded in experience. 

10. In the immediate intuition of an object, as 
existent in space and time, the following particu- 
lars are distinguishable : 

(1.) Those qualities of which we have an im- 
mediate consciousness in the empirical affections 
of sense, and our knowledge of which, as objec- 
tive realities, is, both in kind and degree, deter- 
mined by that which is present in our immediate 
consciousness. That agency of the several pow- 
ers of sense by which we become conscious of 
these qualities, is immediate empirical intuition; 
and in the strict limitation of the term, each sense 
renders us conscious only of its specific correla- 
tive in the qualities of the object ; the sight, of 
colors ; the hearing, of sounds, &c. 

(2.) The intuition of space and time, as distin- 
guishable from the empirical qualities represented 
as existent in space in time, and the necessary a 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 347 

priori ground and condition of that representation. 
This intuition is the agency of pure sense, as dis- 
tinguished from empirical; and, as belonging to the 
sense merely, is the presentation of the unlimited 
manifoldness and mutual exclusiveness of parts as 
coexistent in space and successive in time, without 
unity or form. 

(3.) The representation of a unity and mutual 
relation of parts to each other in space and time, 
and in the object represented as existent in space 
and time. The unity and relation here spoken of, 
are the necessary form under which the under- 
standing apprehends the manifoldness of that 
which is present in the affections of sense, in order 
to make it an object of knowledge. The various 
qualities presented to our consciousness by the em- 
pirical intuitions of sense, are referred to one 
ground of reality, existing objectively in space. 
Thus it is apprehended by the spontaneous agency 
of the understanding, as one thing with manifold- 
ness of properties. 

(4.) There is in the perception of an object, as 
existent outwardly in space, also, a necessary ex- 
citement and activity of the imagination as a 
power of construction. The object, in its relation 
to space and time, is represented as having figure, 
mathematical form and relations in space, and du- 
ration in time. Strictly speaking, the manifold- 
ness of an object is apprehended in a unity of con- 
sciousness, perhaps only by means of the unity of 
its mathematical figure as constructed by the im- 
agination. This may be termed the original and 



348 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

a priori unity of perception, as grounded in the 
necessary form of the understanding and the unity 
of consciousness, and independent of the particu- 
lar form and relation of parts in the object appre- 
hended. 

11. As objects in space and out of self are 
presented to our consciousness in the immediate 
affections of the outer senses, so what belongs to 
our own agencies and the subjective states of our 
inward being, is present to our consciousness as 
the possible object of knowledge, in what is termed 
the inner sense, or the immediate empirical self- 
consciousness. 

12. What has been once consciously presented 
to the sense in our experience as actual, or as an 
object of immediate intuition, can, afterwards, and 
when absent, be re-presented in an imaginary intu- 
ition, or presented in an image of sense which is 
distinguished from the real intuition as representa- 
tive only. The simple re-presentation of an ob- 
ject in an image of sense, is referred to the agency 
of the reproductive imagination. 

13. Such a reproduced image, with a conscious 
reference of it to a past experience, or with a con- 
sciousness that it has been before present to the 
mind, is memory. The voluntary reproduction of 
an image of the past by means of the law of asso- 
ciation, is recollection. 

14. The law of association, considered dis- 
tinctively from the agencies of the understanding, 
is the tendency which the phenomena of our con- 
sciousness have, spontaneously, to recall each other. 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 349 

It is exhibited in its most simple form, in the re- 
calling of past experiences in the order and ar- 
rangement as to time and place which belonged to 
the original impressions, as in simple memory. 
But any objects which have been present in our 
consciousness, as parts of a total impression, ac- 
quire thereby the power each to recall the other. 

15. By the voluntary effort of attention, we 
can abstract and associate particular objects in a 
total impression, with reference to the purposes of 
the understanding, and gradually subordinate the 
spontaneous agencies of the reproductive imagina- 
tion to the methods of the understanding, as the 
power of voluntary thought. 

16. The reproductive imagination is the power 
of presenting imaginary intuitions of past states 
of consciousness, or images representative of past 
intuitions, in an order determined by associations 
previously formed among the objects or agencies 
represented, whether those associations have been 
formed spontaneously or voluntarily. 

17. The voluntary employment of the repro- 
ductive imagination, in calling up images of past 
states of consciousness and of absent objects, is 
the fancy ; and the relation which those images 
have, when thus called up by the free play of the 
imagination, and not subordinated to a pre-con- 
ceived end, is a merely fanciful relation. 

18. The conscious presenting to the mind of 
an antecedent idea or purpose, and the subordina- 
tion of the images of sense to the intelligible de- 
velopement and manifestation of that idea or pur- 



350 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

pose, by so shaping and associating them as to 
give them the form and position which the purpose 
requires, is the productive imagination. The most 
simple exercise of this, is in the production or 
construction of geometrical ideas and forms in 
space. These, for the pure sense, are purely ideal 
and imaginary constructions ; as, when I think of 
a line or a circle, my imagination produces it, con- 
structs it as an object for the pure sense. I re- 
present it to the empirical sense, when I draw it 
with chalk upon a black-board, determining the 
direction of my hand by reference to the ideal 
construction presented by the imagination under 
the form of pure sense. Here that which is pre- 
sented to the empirical sense has no use or mean- 
ing, but as it serves to awaken and fix in the 
minds of others, the mathematical idea of which it 
is but an imperfect image. So of the images of 
sense made use of by the poet, to express the 
ideas which give character and unity to his repre- 
sentations. They are only the plastic matter to 
which the imagination gives form, or which it 
uses as the subordinate material in the production 
and realization of its own ideal creations. The 
idea, the form here which determines the shape 
and relation of parts in the combined unity of the 
whole, and in comparison with which the images 
employed as the material of its construction are 
matter of indifference, is the production of the 
creative imagination. This is the higher and pe- 
culiar power of imagination, as distinguished from 
the power of merely representing, whether spon- 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 351 

taneously or voluntarily, images of past states of 
consciousness. 

19. It should be added, that under the law of 
association are connected together, not only im- 
ages of past objects and states of consciousness, 
but all the powers and activities of our inward 
life ; so that the excitement of one awakens the 
activity of another, according to the principles of 
association by which their agencies are connected. 
Thus, an image of sense excites a feeling of plea- 
sure or pain ; and that, an act of will ; that, a con- 
ception ; that, another image of sense, &c. 

20. It is of comparatively little importance, in 
a practical point of view, to particularize and dis- 
tinguish the relations by which the spontaneous 
associations of our minds are determined. These 
associations, under the law of spontaneity alone, 
belong to our mere irrational nature ; have no in- 
herent unity nor rational tendency, but are varied 
by all the accidental influences to which the sus- 
ceptibilities both of the outer and the inner sense 
are subjected. 

21. An involuntary interest or predominant 
passion, exerted and continuing its influence, may 
direct and fix the attention so as to determine 
the associations and form habits of mind ; but un- 
less brought under the control of the self-deter- 
mining power of thought, and directed to rational- 
ly prescribed ends, it is still but the dominion of 
nature, working in us, and subjecting us to its law, 
as creatures of sense. 



352 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

22. All rational, systematic discipline and 
cultivation of mind, consists in the acquired do- 
minion of the power of voluntary thought over the 
mere natural and spontaneous law of association. 
In proportion as the mind is cultivated, the prin- 
ciples of a higher order and of logical relation are 
introduced, and influence the associations by 
which images are re-produced in our conscious- 
ness, and manifest themselves in the wildest play 
of fancy and even in our dreams. It is the proper 
aim of self-cultivation thus to bring all the treas- 
ures of memory, all the stores of fancy, and all the 
agencies of the mind, under subjection to laws of 
method, prescribed and realized by the power of 
the reflex understanding, and with reference to 
those ultimate ends which reason and conscience 
prescribe. 

Thus the spontaneous association of the phe- 
nomena presented in our consciousness among 
themselves, and the influence of voluntary atten- 
tion and thought, are the two fundamental prin- 
ciples which determine the connexion aud succes- 
sion of all that pertains to the inner world of our 
consciousness. The former is properly distin- 
guished as the law of association, the latter as re- 
flexion ; and they are, in a certain sense, opposed 
to each other, since the exercise of reflexion dis- 
solves the connexions which subsist under the law 
of association, and forms new connexions, and new 
sequences of thought and imagery. Thus, by the 
voluntary and repeated contemplation of objects 
under any determinate order of arrangement, we 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 353 

acquire the power of always re-calling them in the 
same order. On this principle, we can voluntarily 
form associations according to the relations of 
cause and effect, of genus and species, of resem- 
blance and contrast, or by any other law of method 
which the understanding may determine, and 
which is best adapted to the particular purpose in 
view. 

The power of reflection over the law of associa- 
tion, is best shown in the formation of habits. 
Here we often see that a series of thoughts or 
images, of mental acts or muscular motions, which 
at first were connected with conscious and labo- 
rious efforts of attention and reflection at every 
step, as in learning to read or speak a language, 
come, by repeated exercise, to follow each other 
without effort ; and the perfect triumph of reflec- 
tion here is exhibited, when that which the under- 
standing has prescribed and introduced by reflec- 
tion, and for a self-proposed end, comes to be per- 
formed by the law of spontaneous association. 
We thus give law to the agencies of our own 
minds, and the law which we impose becomes a 
second nature. It is not only true, as it seems to 
me, that we are not conscious of an effort of reflec- 
tion in the performance of that which has become 
properly a habit, or is fully established in our asso- 
ciations, but that there is no longer an act of re- 
flection necessary. The acts follow each other 
by the law of spontaneous association, each ante- 
cedent exciting and producing its consequent in 
the series ; subject, however, to the control of the 
45 



354 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

understanding, in regard to the purpose to which 
such agencies are, for the time being, directed. 

This power to subordinate the associative power 
to the pre-determined purposes of the rationalized 
understanding, forms a striking distinction between 
man and the brutes ; and the degree in which it is 
actually so subordinated in the individual mind, 
marks the degree of its rudeness and of its culti- 
vation, of its weakness and of its strength. The 
man of sound and cultivated mind subjects all the 
activities of his mind to his own chosen purposes ; 
the uncultivated or powerless mind is the sport of 
associated images and impulses, over which he has 
no control. 



CHAPTER X. 



PECULIAR FUNCTION OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 

The agencies of the productive imagination and 
of the understanding are alike under the control 
of the will, and alike control the associations of 
fancy, and subject them to their own law ; but for 
different ends, and in different ways. The imagi- 
nation combines images, giving them, as far as 
may be, at the same time, vividness of form and 
coloring, while it shapes them either to the more 
fanciful display of its own energies and the pro- 
duction of mere amusement, or subjects them to 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 355 

the more rigid requisitions of a higher law of rea- 
son, in the production of the beautiful and sub- 
lime. The understanding, on the other hand, ab- 
stracts from the individualized images of empirical 
sense their generic characters and forms, and com- 
bines them according to their logical relations and 
in rigid subordination to the requirements of truth, 
or to the attainment of its own pre-determined 
ends. 

The understanding, as the faculty of reflection, 
by the voluntary control over the re-productive 
imagination, in recalling for the purposes of re- 
flection past states of consciousness, and by di- 
recting its attention to the phenomena presented 
to the inner sense, aims at a rational self-knowl- 
edge. The immediate intuitions of the inner 
sense are but momentary and fleeting states of our 
inward life manifested to our consciousness. Ra- 
tional self-knowledge requires an insight into the 
laws of those agencies of our inward being whose 
sensuous phenomena are exhibited to the inner 
sense. For the attainment of this, the agencies 
must be voluntarily re-excited, the phenomena re- 
produced and often contemplated ; and to do this, 
requires not only the power of directing the at- 
tention inwardly to the agencies of our own minds, 
but the energies of thought. 

The power of doing this, of voluntarily re-ex- 
citing and contemplating, as by an inward eye, the 
agencies of our own inward being, is the faculty 
of thought, the understanding in its strict and 
proper sense. It is thus, too, the faculty of self- 



356 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

knowledge, a higher consciousness, to which the 
mere empirical consciousness of the affections of 
the inner sense is subordinate. It is by this repe- 
tition of our immediate consciousness, and the di- 
rection of our understanding to the re-presentations 
thus consciously recognized in the inner sense, 
that we are able to rise above mere sensuous in- 
tuition, and attain knowledge. 

It was before remarked, that our immediate 
sensuous intuitions are not properly a knowledge 
of their objects, but only contain the material of 
knowledge. It is the function of the understand- 
ing to know what is presented in our intuitions. 
When the senses are first directed to a novel ob- 
ject, they have at the first moment an intuition of 
its qualities as an immediate object of sense ; and 
scarcely any thing is gained in the clearness of the 
immediate sensuous intuition by its continuance or 
repetition. As an object of sense, it may be clear- 
ly and fully before me at once. Yet every one is 
conscious that the instinctive desire of knowledge 
is not satisfied with this, and that indeed it is not 
knowledge. Higher powers than those of sense 
are awakened, and we instinctively inquire what 
it is. We seek to interpret to ourselves the phe- 
nomena presented to our sense, and make that 
which is already an object of intuition for the 
sense, an object of knowledge for the understand- 
ing. We repeat our attention, perhaps, to an out- 
ward object, in order to be able to present a more 
clear and perfect image to the inner sense ; but the 
ability to present such an image, though a step 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 357 

towards it, is not yet a knowledge of the object 
which it represents. It is not an act or product 
of the understanding, but remains in the sphere of 
sense. 

But though neither the immediate intuitions of 
the outer and the inner sense, nor the sensuous 
images of these presented to the inner sense, con- 
stitute a knowledge of their objects, jet they con- 
tain all the materials of our knowledge of them. 
In these immediate intuitions of sense, the objects 
of knowledge have imparted, as it were, to our 
minds, all that our minds can receive. We have 
presented them in our consciousness, in the only 
mode in which we can take immediate cognizance 
of them ; and in the images of sense, we have re- 
served and can represent to our minds all the char- 
acteristics of the original intuition which are ne- 
cessary for the purposes of the understanding. 
Here, too, observe, that in the images thus repre- 
sented, though sensuous in their form, there is not 
only a partial abstraction of the individuality and 
manifoldness which belonged to the original intu- 
ition, but, as representable images, they have be- 
come a possession of the mind itself, partaking of 
its character, and no longer dependent upon the 
condition or continued existence of that which 
they represent. 

It is the materials thus treasured up, and repro- 
ducible in the inner sense, or, rather, the states of 
consciousness here represented, on which the en- 
ergies of thought are employed, and from which 
the knowledge of the understanding is derived. 



358 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

The attainment of this knowledge, moreover, is, 
properly speaking, self-knowledge. Our immedi- 
ate knowledge of the objects of sense is com- 
prised in the intuitions of sense ; and the exercise 
of thought is directed to the consideration and un- 
derstanding of what is contained in those intui- 
tions. The aim of reflection is thus to know our 
own knowing ; to understand the intelligible form 
of that which is present in our immediate con- 
sciousness. The energies of thought, of reflec- 
tion, cannot go beyond this. The understanding 
has no insight into the object of knowledge, aside 
from what is given in the conscious affection of 
sense. It can only know what is already given in 
the intuitions of sense, and the re-presented im- 
ages of these ; that is, what is already the posses- 
sion of the mind in a sensuous form. But its aim 
is, to render us distinctly conscious of that in our 
immediate experiences, of which we were not be- 
fore conscious ; by considering, reflecting, com- 
paring, distinguishing, &c, to bring out and mark 
with distinct consciousness what was already pres- 
ent and contained in our immediate sensuous pre- 
sentations, but was not noticed. Thus the sensu- 
ous presentation to the inner sense, of the room 
which we employ for a chapel, contains all the 
materials which we have or can have for a knowl- 
edge of it. But this may be present to our minds 
without our noticing the likeness or unlikeness of 
its parts, or any of those relations, the conscious- 
ness of which constitutes, in fact, our knowledge 
of it. To make ourselves distinctly conscious that 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 359 

the windows on the opposite sides, in this image 
of the room, are equal in number, but different in 
form ; to compare their size ; to notice their rela- 
tive position, the character and size of the panes 
of glass, as compared with those in other windows ; 
and so of whatever is distinctly knowable in the 
object presented as the mathematical figure of the 
room ; the geometrical figures formed by its diago- 
nal or other lines, &c, is the province of thought. 
However full and perfect the sensuous representa- 
tion may be, without such thought, we know no- 
thing about the object. It is plain, too, that 
thought adds nothing but its own activity ; and that 
in the sensuous image we had presented to our- 
selves, had already possessed the mind of, all that 
can be known by the most mature reflection, 
whether referable to the external object or to the 
spontaneous agency of the mind itself. If, there- 
fore, the presenting of the sensuous image be a 
knowing of the object represented, the purpose of 
reflection is, as before observed, only to repeat 
consciously and thoughtfully to ourselves, what we 
already know ; to re-cognize our former knowing ; 
to reconsider our former doing ; in a word, to 
bring distinctly before the eye of our reflective 
self-consciousness, what was already a part of self, 
as an agency of the mind, and permanently repre- 
sentable to the inner sense. 

Observe, that all which is given in the case sup- 
posed, of the re-presented image of the room, as 
the material of reflection, is determined by the law 
of spontaneity, as distinguished from voluntary 



360 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

agency. We have recalled the image of the room 
to mind, perhaps, voluntarily ; but all that the im- 
age contains is independent of our will. Its uni- 
ty as an object of consciousness, its figure and rela- 
tions in space, and all that belongs to the affections 
of empirical sense in the image represented, its 
connexion with other objects, near or distant, and 
its being included as a part in the unity of nature, 
&c, the mode in which we present it in all these 
respects, is determined, I say, by the law of spon- 
taneity. But whether / reflect and reconsider 
ivhat I have thus presented, and how I have pre- 
sented it, its distinguishable qualities and relations, 
depends upon my will. The exercise of the fac- 
ulty of thought, in other words, is voluntary. 

But again, though I may think or not think, as 
I will, yet, if I think at all, this agency, too, has 
its law of spontaneity. I can think, only accord- 
ing to the inherent and necessary laws of the un- 
derstanding, as the faculty of thought. 



CHAPTER XI. 

GENERAL CONCEPTION OF REASON, AND ITS RE- 
LATION TO THE UNDERSTANDING. 

That which I have now spoken of as the spon- 
taneous agencies of our conscious being, in dis- 
tinction from the voluntary, is, in one sense of the 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 361 

term, the manifestation of the power and law of 
reason. But I have before spoken of these spon- 
taneous agencies in the empirical affections of 
sense, and the sequences of the spontaneous law of 
association, as being a mere irrational nature in 
our minds ; as nature working in us, rather than 
our own work ; and probably the same in the 
higher order of brutes, as in man. 

These two statements are apparently contradic- 
tory, yet both true. Considered as reason, the 
power thus actuated and manifesting itself to our 
reflection, is not our reason, yet a power working 
in us according to a rational law. In its immedi- 
ate relation to the understanding and will, that is, 
to the personal self and self-consciousness, it is 
the law of our nature, given to us, and working in 
us, as the organific power of life works in the or- 
ganization and growth of a plant, or of our bodily 
systems, independently of our own personal con- 
trivance or purpose. Yet, considered in itself, and 
as the subjective law of action in our minds, so far 
as the mode and form of that agency is spontane- 
ous, (and, in regard to our wills, necessary, not ac- 
quired by experience, but a priori, i. e., deter- 
mined by its own inherent principle, antecedently 
to experience,) it is a rational agency. It is the 
actuation in us, of that universal power which is 
the real ground and actual determinant of all liv- 
ing action, and one with the power and life of na- 
ture. We recognize it as reason, only so far -as 
we make ourselves conscious of it in the opera- 
46 • 



362 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

tions of our minds, as a necessary law of action. 
Thus, when, by the excitement of the outer 
senses, I am led to represent to myself an object 
existing outwardly in space, thence to the intui- 
tion of pure space, of the unity and infinite exten- 
sion of space, the possibility of producing a line 
in the same direction ad infinitum, and to see the 
necessity of what is so presented to my conscious- 
ness, I recognize the power thus called into action 
and consciously exerted, as the spontaneous agen- 
cy of reason, acting according to its own law, and 
determining, for our understanding, the modes and 
conditions of all our knowledge. When, in the 
example before made use of, I represent the room 
in its form and relations, as I do, including all that 
is knowable in it, as an object of reflexion, it is 
plain that my will has no power to present it oth- 
erwise. The whole is fixed and determined by 
the spontaneity of reason and a law of necessity, 
which I cannot contradict without placing my un- 
derstanding in contradiction to reason. A diffi- 
culty arises, here, from our habit of considering 
the mind as simply passive, in regard to the pres- 
ence of the immediate objects of sense. Yet a 
moment's reflection, only, is necessary to make 
ourselves conscious, that in the presentation of 
these to our distinct consciousness, the mind is ac- 
tive ; excited to action, perhaps, from without ; 
but when excited, acting according to its own law. 
What its agency is, and the law of its action, we 
learn, as before observed, by the voluntary exer- 
cise of the faculty of thought. 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 363 

So of the law of thought itself; we learn what 
it is, by making the operation of the mind, when 
we think, itself the object of reflective thought. 
And this is the purpose of logic ; to ascertain and 
exhibit in the abstract, the necessary laws of 
thought. Now that which is necessary and a 
priori, in the agency of this power, or the inherent 
ground why I think so and so, and cannot think 
otherwise, as to the mode of my proceeding, in the 
agency of thought, is the law of reason. Thus, in 
reflecting upon what is presented as the object of 
knowledge, I think of it under the relation of sub- 
ject and predicate, or substance and attributes, the 
thing in itself and its qualities, of unity and mul- 
teity, &c. And that which prescribes these neces- 
sary laws of thought, is the pure reason, by its 
own spontaneity, independent of and antecedent to 
any determination of the will, or purpose of the 
understanding, itself considered as the instrument 
of the will. We can only, by voluntarily directing 
the exercise of thought upon its own mode of 
proceeding, make ourselves conscious of these 
laws ; of what we do, and how we do it, when 
engaged in the employment of the understanding. 

But a very interesting and important example of 
what I mean by the spontaneity of reason, and of 
the relation of its agencies to that of the reflex un- 
derstanding, is found in the mathematical intuition 
of pure sense. This has already been referred to 
incidentally ; but the nature of mathematical intui- 
tion, as distinguished from the faculty of thought, 
is deserving of more particular attention on its 



364 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

own account, as well as to exemplify the point now 
in question. 

In mathematical intuition, we are immediately 
conscious of an agency which we recognize as 
necessary; independent of experience, and antece- 
dent to reflection. If we refer again to the image 
which we present to ourselves of the chapel, we 
find that we have presented it in a determinate 
mathematical form, in its relation to space. If we 
reflect farther upon what we have done in this act 
of presentation, we become conscious that we have 
presented a mathematical figure limited on all 
sides by a something affecting our senses of sight, 
touch, &c. ; but that this mathematical figure in 
space is independent of those material boundaries, 
and still remains fixed, as a distinct and permanent 
object of pure sense, when that which affects the 
empirical sense is abstracted from the image. The 
figure itself we cannot abstract. We may cease to 
think of it, but when we do think, we represent it 
as still there, and always of necessity there, with 
the same mathematical determinations of form. 

Again, on further reflection, I find that I have 
given this mathematical figure, in its construction, 
certain determinate properties, of which I can make 
myself distinctly conscious. I have represented it 
as longer in one direction than the other. I see 
that I have made its opposite sides parallel, each 
of its sides a rectangle, and the whole figure rec- 
tangular and six sided; that in this six sided 
figure, two of the sides are placed horizontally and 
four perpendicularly. If I reflect still farther, I am 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. S65 

conscious that I have represented each of these 
sides as bounded by four mathematical straight 
lines, meeting in mathematical points, at four right 
angles, and the opposite sides parallel and equal. I 
see that a line drawn diagonally through this four- 
sided figure, divides it into two triangles ; that 
in these triangles, two sides and the included angle 
of the one, are equal to the corresponding parts in 
the other ; that they are necessarily equal, and the 
three angles of each equal to two right angles. 

Again, if I look farther at the parallel lines, I 
see that they are so related to each other, that if 
produced indefinitely, they will never meet ; and 
that they cannot enclose a space. 

In addition to this, I become conscious by re- 
flection, that certain properties, which I find in this 
figure and its several parts, belong not only to this 
particular figure, in this particular place, but neces- 
sarily to all six sided rectangular figures, rectan- 
gles, triangles, straight lines, &c. Thus in con- 
templating the properties of these straight lines, I 
may become conscious that no two straight lines 
can include a space ; that not only in these but in 
all possible triangles, the three interior angles are 
equal to two right angles ; and that it cannot be 
otherwise. So, too, in looking at the relations of 
the sides and angles of a triangle, I see them to be 
such, that in all possible constructions of it, it will 
be either right-angled, obtuse-angled or acute- 
angled ; that any two sides will be greater than 
the third side, &;c. The same remarks may be 
extended to all the constructions and demonstra- 
tions of pure mathematics. 



S66 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 

The important point of distinction to be noticed 
here is, that these solid and plain figures, lines 
and angles, together with the properties enumerat- 
ed, and whatever else the geometrician may distin- 
guish and demonstrate as their properties, are pro- 
duced and presented to the inner sense by a power 
whose agency is antecedent to reflection, which 
makes them what they are, and gives to them the 
properties which we discover and demonstrate. 
By attention and reflection I add nothing , but only 
become distinctly conscious of what was given and 
unalterably determined in the original construc- 
tion. In the mathematical construction, I had 
made the lines parallel, &c. ; and to think of them 
presupposes them already made. Now that ante- 
cedent agency which determined the form of these 
constructions and assigned them their properties, 
was a spontaneous agency of that power which I 
have denominated reason. No matter what was 
the occasion or the excitement which called it into 
action ; I recognise its agency in the geometrical 
constructions, whose properties I contemplate. In 
these I trace the law of construction, and the 
working of a power which is its own law ; which, 
in its developement, in its spontaneous goings 
forth, is not, like the affections of sense, determined 
from without, but by its own inward principles of 
action and by its spontaneous agency, gives form 
and law to that which it produces. 

Now it is the peculiar advantage of geometry, 
as a means of illustration here, that we can more 
readily make ourselves conscious of the immediate 



REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 367 

agency of that power which works in us, and the 
products of whose agency we contemplate in all 
theiobjects of our knowledge. The spontaneity 
of the organic power of life in the functions of 
nutrition and the nerves of motion, are wholly be- 
yond the reach of our consciousness. In the 
functions of the higher power of the organic sys- 
tem in the affections of sense, we seem to our- 
selves simply passive, and are not conscious of that 
agency which yet we know to be necessary on the 
part of the subject as organic reaction, in order to 
sensation. So the presenting of the manifold out- 
ward affections of sense, in any case, under a 
unity of consciousness ; we may convince ourselves, 
by reflection upon that of which we are conscious, 
that it is an act of our own minds, originating in 
the essential unity of consciousness and the spon- 
taneity of our own reason, but we are not imme- 
diately conscious of it. It is a matter of inference, 
not of direct self-consciousness. But of the con- 
struction of geometrical ideas in space, we may 
make ourselves directly and immediately conscious. 
We have a direct and immediate intuition of the 
constituent law of geometrical construction, and 
see the necessary and unconditional truth of geo- 
metrical propositions. * * * 



ON THE WILL. 



THE SPIRITUAL PRINCIPLE IN MAN 



[in a letter to a friend.] 



Burlington, Jan. 1, 1836. 

Mr dear Sir, — I have read over jour friend's 
manuscript on the free-will, repeatedly, with a 
view to comply with your request ; but was always 
at a loss where to begin, and how best to make 
intelligible, to you and to him, the bearings of my 
views upon those which the piece contains. I re- 
gard it as expressing some fundamental distinc- 
tions, and as implying a deep insight into the 
mysteries of the human spirit ; but — shall I say 
it — the ideas seem to me not fully wrought out 
and clearly reduced to the unity of a system. 
The distinction which he exhibits between liber- 
ty and freedom, though I could not adopt those 
terms to express it, or perhaps follow him in his 



ON THE WILL. 369 

details, I understand to be the same which the 
old divines make, and which you will find, as I 
recollect, in one of Cudworth's sermons, (not the 
one re-published by Henry.) The man who has 
what the manuscript terms liberty, is sin's free- 
man, (Jer. Taylor's free only to sin,) and the one 
who has freedom, in the sense of the manuscript, 
is GocPs free man. Not that Cudworth's state- 
ment includes all that the distinction here made is 
intended to convey : I speak only of two kinds of 
freedom, essentially different from each other, as 
there taught. But in following the manuscript 
in detail, I should be obliged to go into long ex- 
planations on every point, and give, after all, but a 
partial view of what I regard as the truth, because 
taken from a position that admits only of a partial 
view. I shall, perhaps, therefore, answer the 
wishes of your friend better, if I present a brief 
outline of my own views, and leave him to com- 
pare them in the aspects which they present rela- 
tively to each other and to their own ground prin- 
ciples. I no not pretend to give the views which 
I shall express as original, nor are they directly 
copied from any one or more authors. I give 
them, too, only in a hasty and imperfect outline, 
with the familiarity and informality of a letter, to 
one who needs but a hint in order to think out 
for himself that to which it tends, or which it in- 
tends. 

I shall proceed, then, without farther preface or 
apology, to endeavor to fix a few points in a se- 
ries of developements, the contemplation of which 
47 



370 ON THE WILL. 

seems to me to lead to the most intelligible view 
of that which is distinctively spiritual, and of the 
relation of our finite spirits to nature on the one 
hand, and to the spirit, as their own proper ele- 
ment, on the other. I must not be understood as 
attempting to give more than hints, and these such 
as I would not venture to express, where I did not 
presume that they would be, at least, kindly in- 
terpreted. Nor can I now undertake to give all 
the links in the chain by which the elementary 
powers of nature are connected with the highest, 
and with the supernatural. 1 speak, as you will 
perceive, of powers, and shall assume, at the out- 
set, the truth of the dynamic theory, which seeks 
the reality of all the objects of our knowledge in 
living powers, knowable to us only in the law of 
their action, as they manifest themselves in their 
phenomenal relations and aspects. 

1. Let us begin, then, with the elementary and 
universal powers which manifest themselves in the 
material world. Here we find each distinguisha- 
ble power conceivable only in its actual and imme- 
diate relation to its proper correlative or counter- 
acting power ; so related, that each presupposes the 
other, in order to, or as the condition of, its possi- 
ble actuation. Take, for example, the Kantian 
construction of the conception of matter, as such. 
The universal and necessary constituents of mat- 
ter, as matter, are, attraction and repulsion, each 
the measure and determinant of the other, and the 
resulting equilibrium, the basis, as it were, of the 
material world. Now, extend this view, and see 



ON THE WILL. 371 

how the same conditions apply to those superadded 
powers which it is the business of the chemist to 
investigate ; and how, throughout inorganic nature, 
whatever is fixed and determined, is found, so far 
as analysis has extended, to result from the syn- 
thesis of counteracting powers, and remains fixed 
so long as those powers remain in equilibrio. Ap- 
ply it, also, to electricity and magnetism, and ob- 
serve, that, throughout the sphere of inorganic 
powers, the equilibrium of specific correlative and 
counteracting forces results in a state of rest and 
apparent inaction ; but with a product that is the 
abiding witness of their abiding and living energy. 

Now the point to be observed, here, is, that 
these distinct powers are, (1.) conceivable only as 
relative, each to another, which is necessarily pre- 
supposed in order to its actual manifestation in 
nature ; and this being mutual, necessarily again 
leads to the assumption of a higher and antecedent 
unity, which is, therefore, supernatural ; and, (2.) 
are terminated and fixed in their agency, each, im- 
mediately, by its correlative, producing, as the re- 
sult of their counterbalanced energies, the world 
of death, or of what we term dead and inorganic 
matter. 

2. Observe the dawn of the individualizing 
power, in the formation of crystals, where each 
specific product of the elementary powers of na- 
ture separates itself from all that is heterogeneous, 
becomes attractive of its own kind, and, with a 
semblance of organic life, builds up, each after the 
law of its kind, its geometric forms. Here, too, 



372 OxN THE WILL. 

but a moment's reflection is necessary, to see that 
we are compelled to regard the power which is 
determinant of the form to be assumed, by a salt, 
e. g., held in solution, as one that is universally 
present, or all in every part ; since the perfect 
form of the crystal is presupposed and predeter- 
mined in the first step of the process, and every 
particle assumes the position necessary to realize 
the antecedent idea. But though we have, here, 
the manifestation of a formative power, yet it is 
limited, in its agency, to the building of geomet- 
rical forms, by mere apposition, out of elements of 
the same kind, with no assimilative energy, and 
terminates in the production of fixed and lifeless 
forms. There is yet no organific and living pro- 
cess. 

3. In the principles of organic life, even in 
their lowest potence, we have a power which man- 
ifests itself as paramount to the elementary powers 
of nature, and subordinates them, and their inor- 
ganic products, to the accomplishment of its ends. 
We find, here, an energy that dissolves and trans- 
mutes, assimilates to its own nature and appro- 
priates to its own uses, the heterogeneous elements 
subjected to its agency. It cannot be conceived 
as springing out of inorganic nature, as merely a 
higher potence ; or as being the proper product of 
its elementary powers. (For, how can death pro- 
duce life ? How can powers, which have neu- 
tralized, and whose only agency is, as correlatives, 
to neutralize, each other, and which, so long as 
their equilibrium is undisturbed from without, re- 



ON THE WILL. 373 

main forever at rest, give birth to a higher and in 
some sense antagonist principle ?) The power 
of life, then, does not come from beneath, out of 
the inferior elements, but from above. Yet it pre- 
supposes the existence of those elements, as the 
condition of its own manifestation, and comes to 
them as to its own, enters and takes possession, 
and out of them builds up its manifold and won- 
drous forms. With the power of life, it imparts 
to the assimilated elements a formative and organ- 
ific tendency, and, in its infinite diversifications, 
propagates and diffuses its specific forms, each af- 
ter its kind. 

Here, then, we have the powers of life and of 
living nature, I mean of organic life and organic 
nature, educing, from the inferior elements, the 
visible and tangible material required for the de- 
velopement of their organism, but conferring upon 
these elements their own living forms. But I 
must not forget the purpose for which these per- 
haps apparently irrelevant matters are introduced. 

4. Leaving, then, the relation of the organic 
life of nature to the inferior elements, for the pres- 
ent, what are the distinctive characters and higher 
developements, which may help us to understand 
the supernatural life of the spirit ? Observe, first, 
the continuity and self-productivity of the organic 
life of nature. The assimilative and plastic ener- 
gies, co-working in each principle of organic na- 
ture, tend, with limitless repetition, to reproduce 
their own form, whether individual or specific. 
Thus, the principle of life in the seed of an apple, 



374 ON THE WILL. 

for example, produces and realizes its own indi- 
vidual form, and, with continuous productivity, 
multiplies that form, with a distinct repetition, in 
each bud, with its attendant leaf; and, whether by 
the continuous growth of the same stock, or by 
buds and scions transferred to others, propagates 
itself without limit. Here, too, in the highest 
perfection of the individualized power and form in 
the developement of the flower and fruit, we see 
the higher specific principle of life resolving itself 
into its polar forces, in order, by their reunion, to 
reproduce the kind, and so in endless succession. 
Observe, here, more closely, how absolutely tran- 
sitional are these successive individualizations ; 
how each bud, in the very process of growth, does 
but pass into other individuals, and lose itself in 
the moment of becoming ; while the specific prin- 
ciple, again, here, as throughout nature, manifests 
itself only in the production of new individuali- 
zations. 

Observe, secondly, how, in the animal organiza- 
tion, the assimilative and plastic powers, in their 
productive agency, effect, not, as in plants, a 
succession of transitional forms, with no true cir- 
culation of the productive power, and no self- 
affirmation in any, but a continuous reproduction 
of the same individual form and organism. Here 
we find a more complex organization, and the 
assimilative and plastic powers, with their proper 
organs, clothed with those of the systems of irrita- 
bility and sensibility, by which their relations to 
the outer world are determined, and the specific 



ON THE WILL. 375 

ends of each organic nature attained. But it is an 
important point to observe, thirdly, how, in every 
organic being, every organ and function must ne- 
cessarily be conceived as reciprocally a means and 
an end, a cause and an effect, in relation to the 
others ; and how the manifoldness of the parts is 
combined and harmonized in the unity of the 
whole ; how the one principle of life in the entire 
organism, as the all in every part, seeks the reali- 
zation of its own predetermined end in the full 
development of its essential form ; and how, even 
in the productive and organific agencies of nature, 
the self-seeking principle is manifested ; and with 
it, in a lower form, the principle of self-determina- 
tion : for, fifthly, while in every gradation of the 
powers of life, the inward principle unfolds and 
manifests itself only under the condition of being 
excited from without by that which corresponds 
with its wants, and furnishes the means of its 
assimilative agency ; yet the specific mode of its 
action is determined by its own inherent law ; and 
no change of outward circumstances can determine 
it to any other action, or mode of development, 
than that which is predetermined in its own nature, 
or antecedent idea. The outward circumstances 
of soil, exposure, &c, may modify the accidents of 
outward growth, size, color, &c, of an oak, but 
no possible outward circumstances can make an 
acorn produce any other tree than an oak. The 
inward principle of life is here self-determined, and 
not determinable from without. So, as to the 
self-seeking tendency, each vegetable principle of 



376 ON THE WILL. 

life strives, by the assimilation and subjugation of 
the inferior powers of inorganic nature, afWr the 
realization of its own predetermined end, in the 
development of its outward form : and what are 
the appetites or appetences of animal nature, but 
the striving of the inward principle of life to attain 
(by means of those corresponding objects, which, 
being presented through the medium of sense, 
stimulate the appetites and excite the irritability 
of the system) the ends which that nature pre- 
scribes. Thus, according to the universal law of 
organic nature, each individual principle of life 
seeks the realization and perpetuation of its own 
form, the attainment of its own end, as the law of 
its nature. Observe here, too, that as the power 
of organic life generally, while it does not spring 
out of the inferior elements, yet presupposes their 
existence, so in every gradation of organic nature, 
each subjective excitability presupposes its specific 
exciting cause, without which it has but a poten- 
tial reality, and can never have an actual existence 
in nature. 

The relation of the subjective powers of life 
here, to surrounding nature, as the corresponding 
objective, and the action and reaction necessary 
to the development of the subjective, while yet the 
agency of the subjective, as to the law of its ac- 
tion, as well as its ultimate end, is self-determined, 
and must be conceived as antecedent to the objec- 
tive, and having an independent origin, are points 
fundamentally important. 



ON THE WILL. 377 

6. With the dawn of sensibility and con- 
sciousness in its lowest form, we find the inward 
tendencies and seekings of the principle of life, re- 
vealing itself as a craving after that which the 
ends of our organic nature prescribe. In its sim- 
plest modification, may we not conceive it as anal- 
agous to the productive agency in vegetable life ; 
a self-finding, but at the same moment a self-los- 
ing power ; continuously transitional and fleeting, 
momentarily and continuously directing the organ- 
ic agencies, but with no power to retain or repro- 
duce the consciousness of the momently past, and 
therefore without the consciousness of time ? 
In this form, it connects itself with the relation of 
the subjective to the objective in their reciprocal 
action and reaction, but only as a medium through 
which the other agencies of the system are excited 
and the ends of nature secured. In regard to these 
agencies, moreover, and the relation of the subjec- 
tive wants to their outward correlatives, in the high- 
est human consciousness, we find them determined 
according to a law of nature ; each inward appeten- 
cy seeking its correlative object, and the organic 
affections of pleasure and pain arising according as 
the organic wants and tendencies are satisfied or 
repressed. Suppose such a consciousness to go 
along with the agency of the organic powers, and 
let us trace its different gradations. Observe, 1st, 
the immediate action and reaction of the subjective 
and the objective in the vegetative sphere ; 2dly, 
the intermediate agency of the organs of sense 
and of the muscular system, by which the relations 
48 



378 ON THE WILL. 

of the subjective principle of life to surrounding 
nature are enlarged, and its appropriate objects 
brought within its reach at a distance in space ; 
and, 3dly, the superadded powers of instinctive 
intelligence, or the adaptive faculty, enlarging still 
farther the powers of devising and employing the 
means for the attainment of the specific ends, 
which the individual nature prescribes ; — and we 
may still regard all this as the action and reaction 
of the subjective and the objective, according to a 
fixed law of nature, or of cause and effect ; and 
the subject to be still lost to itself and absorbed in 
the pursuit of its correlative objects, and of those 
ends which the law of its nature prescribes ; pur- 
suing now this and now that object, this or that 
end, according to the accidental relation subsisting 
between its present wants and the objects that are 
within the sphere of its organic action. 

7. Now let us suppose, superadded to these 
powers, a higher consciousness, by which we can 
reflect upon, and represent to ourselves, these in- 
ward propensities of our individual nature and their 
various relations of action and reaction to their 
outward correlatives ; — that we have thus a perfect 
knowledge of our nature, and are distinctly con- 
scious of its agencies and its states, as pleasurable 
or painful ; that we see them as it were passing 
before us, but passing by an unchangeable law of 
nature, over which we have no control. This, 
too, is certainly conceivable. But suppose again, 
that in addition to a perfect knowledge of our na- 
ture and its various appetites and agencies, with 



ON THE WILL. 379 

their correlative objects in the world of sense, we 
have the power of reflecting upon the pleasure and 
pain which attends this or that particular agency ; 
of comparing one with another ; of bringing in the 
consideration of time ; of subordinating the present 
to the future, the less to the greater, and instead 
of blindly following present impulses, seeking with 
prudent foresight the highest sum of that which 
our nature prescribes as its proper end. Should 
we not still be within the sphere of our individual 
nature, and limited to the ends of that nature ; and 
can that which, by such a process, grows out of 
nature, be conceived capable of rising above it and 
seeking any ulterior or higher end ? However 
great the power of intelligence, according to such 
a supposition its highest result must be to harmon- 
ise the various tendencies of natural appetites or 
propensities, and give unity and consistency to 
their agencies, so as most effectually to attain the 
end already prescribed by the antecedent law of 
nature, as self-determined and self-seeking. The 
resultant would be absolutely determined by the 
law of nature, and would be a mere nature ; there- 
fore not a will, not spiritual. To prevent misap- 
prehension, too, I should say that no such self- 
consciousness as that represented above, properly 
belongs to a mere nature ; and that the subjective 
wants and propensities of a nature are not neces- 
sarily limited to mere organic wants, but may em- 
brace whatever subjective properties or excitabili- 
ties can belong to an individual self-seeking prin- 
ciple, having their correlative objects, with the 



380 ON THE WILL. 

relation of action and reaction between them, ac- 
cording to the universal law of nature. 

8. With this imperfect sketch of the inward 
impulses of living natures, let us look for a moment 
more connectedly at the possible relations of con- 
sciousness to these agencies of the principle of life. 
The inorganic powers of nature, as we have seen, 
are properly in a state of activity only so long as 
their equilibrium is disturbed, and immediately 
restore themselves to a state of rest. In the low- 
est principles of life, in the vegetable, there is a 
continuity of living action, but with no true circu- 
latory agency, no fixed point and centre of action, 
remaining the same with itself and affirming itself, 
— but a continuous transition of the living energy 
into other and still other outward forms, so that 
even a momentary self-finding is inconceivable, 
since there is no true self, and the powers of life, 
e. g., that exist in union in one joint of a grape 
vine, as they send forth their productive agency, 
do not revert for the reproduction and perpetuation 
of the same individualised power from which 
they proceed, but proceed still outwardly, and 
reunite in the production of another joint or 
individualised germ. In the animal organiza- 
tion and organic action, on the other hand, there 
is a true circulation or returning into itself, 
and a continuous self-reproduction of the organic 
system, a self-circling and self-centering of the 
living functions, which may possibly render in some 
sense representable to us (it can certainly do no 
more than that) the idea of a self-finding power, 



ON THE WILL. 381 

or the lowest form of consciousness, in the sensi- 
bility to pleasurable and painful states of the 
organic system. Suppose the sphere of sense 
enlarged, so as to include a sensibility to all those 
relations which subsist, according to the law of 
nature, between the subjective excitabilities and 
their outward correlatives, so that the sense is a 
medium of action and reaction between these ; and 
we have exhausted the sphere of sense as a func- 
tion of the organic system. The form of con- 
sciousness, here, as merely sensuous, must be con- 
ceived as transitional, and, as before remarked, a 
perpetual self-losing, without the conscious relation 
of time, with no conscious recognition of the pres- 
ent as identical with the past, and with an absorp- 
tion of the self in the objects towards which its 
subjective powers are directed. 

Let the involuntary reproduction of sensuous 
images, and the spontaneous law of association, 
both of which pertain to the sphere of sense, be 
superadded, and may we not consider this as ex- 
pressing the highest form of a mere sensuous na- 
ture, as we find it in the brutes, and as Protagoras in 
Plato's Theastetus, and as Hume, have represented 
human nature ? There is, and can be, in such a 
nature, no true self-consciousness, and no true will ; 
even as there can be, in nature, nothing above or 
over against nature. 

9. It was said, above, that the power of organ- 
ic life could not have its origin from, or spring out 
of, inorganic nature ; since powers in equilibrio 
cannot produce a higher power, subordinating them 



382 ON THE WILL. 

to its agency. So, here, it is equally manifest 
that the will and the power of personal self-con- 
sciousness, the spiritual principle in man, cannot 
come out of the powers of his natural life, but 
cometh from above. That self-affirmed and self- 
conscious 7, which unites in itself the personal will 
and the free self-directed faculty of thought, and 
which places itself over against nature, even the 
individual's own nature, and contemplates its agen- 
cies, does not, I say, spring out of that nature ; but 
is a higher birth, a principle of higher and spirit- 
ual energy, and having its proper relations to a 
world of spirit. It enters into the life of nature, 
in some sense, as the power of organic life enters 
into the lower sphere of inorganic matter. In its 
own essence, and in its proper right, it is super- 
natural, and paramount to all the powers of nature. 
But it has its birth in, though not properly from, 
an individual nature, and we may now look more 
nearly at the relation of the spiritual to the natural 
in our own being. 

10. The principle of natural life in us, as in 
all organic beings, is self-seeking, and strives after 
the highest realization of self, as its ultimate end. 
If we suppose a power of intelligence included in 
the organism of nature, as remarked in No. 7, 
no matter how great, it will only be subservient to 
the ends of nature, and cannot conceivably seek 
after an ulterior and higher end. But here we 
have a power of will and intelligence, that, poten- 
tially, and in their true idea, are above nature, and 
have their proper ends above those of nature. But 



ON THE WILL. 383 

it has, also, its true source and ground of being in 
the supernatural, or that which is above the man's 
individual nature and the agencies of his individual 
life. Observe, then, how the finite will and un- 
derstanding, or reflective faculty, constituting the 
man in the man, the supernatural, enter into, be- 
come absorbed in, and, in the determination of ul- 
timate ends, limited by, the self-seeking principle 
of nature. The understanding, reflecting and re- 
producing, in its own abstract forms, the fleeting 
experiences of the life of nature, its wants and its 
tendencies, seeks, in the false and notional unity 
which, by reflection, it forms out of these, its own 
centre and principle of action ; seduces the will 
into the pursuit of the ends thus determined ; and 
thus the spiritual principle is brought into bondage 
to the life of nature. It has formed to itself a 
false centre, out of the mere notional reflexes of 
sensuous experience, by which its inward princi- 
ple and its ultimate end are determined. It has 
thus become a self-will, not governed by the spir- 
itual law, but by a principle originating in itself, 
and bringing it into subjection to the law of sin, 
the self-seeking principle of the mere individual 
nature. Observe, it has not become a nature, 
which is, by the law of necessity, self-seeking ; but 
is still a spiritual principle, and, of right, subject to 
the law of the spirit. In' this fallen state, it is 
still self-determined, since it is not determined 
from without, but by an inward principle, which 
no outward circumstances can change. Inasmuch, 
too, as that principle of self-will is the ultimate 



384 ON THE WILL. 

principle, and a selfish end the ultimate end which 
it strives after, nothing can be a motive of action 
to it, which is not subordinate to that principle and 
end. It cannot rise to the pursuit of a higher end 
and the obedience of a higher law, for it cannot 
rise above itself, its inward principle, and, being 
in bondage to a law of nature, obey a law above 
nature. It is in view of this, that the Apostle ex- 
claimed, in the name of fallen and enslaved hu- 
manity, ' O, wretched man that I am ! who shall 
deliver me,' &c. Neither the finite understand- 
ing, unenlightened from above, can rightly appre- 
hend, nor the finite self-will, unaided and unem- 
powered from above, effectively pursue, the objects 
and ends which are truly spiritual. 

11. What then is the relation of the will, as 
spiritual, to that which prescribes its true and 
rightful end ? The ultimate fact of consciousness, 
here, is the sense of responsibility to a law above 
nature, prescribing, unconditionally and absolutely, 
ends paramount to those which the self-will, as 
the law of nature, prescribes. This fact alone is 
enough to establish the principle, that the will is, 
in itself, essentially supernatural, having its true 
correlatives, not in the sphere of nature and the 
world of sense, but in those objects that are spirit- 
ual. The life of nature has its proper correlatives, 
by which its powers are excited and evolved in the 
world of sense. The principle of natural life has 
in itself only the antecedent form, and has only a 
potential reality, till it receives from surrounding 
nature those assimilable elements, by which its 



ON THE WILL. 385 

powers are excited, and manifest their living form 
in the actual world of nature. So the spiritual 
principle may be said to have only a potential re- 
ality, or, as it enters into the life of nature, a false 
and delusive show of reality, until, awakened from 
above by its own spiritual correlatives, (spiritual 
truths, or those words that are spirit and life, in a 
word, revelation of spiritual things), it receives 
the engrafted word, and is empowered to rise 
above the thraldom of nature. 

Here, however* it may be said with propriety, 
in regard to the analogy referred to, that the world 
of sense, in its relation to the spiritual, is analo- 
gous to the inferior and assimilable elements in 
their relation to the principle of organic life as 
furnishing the material of duty, and the sphere of 
action into which the higher spiritual principle of 
life is to carry and realize its own inherent form, 
and, while it embodies itself in those outward 
agencies which belong to the world of sense, con- 
fer upon them the higher form of its own spiritual 
law of action and of being. But here again is the 
important distinction, that while the development 
and perfection of its organic form is the true self- 
determined end of the principle of organic life, it 
is aimed at unconsciously, and even the appetites 
of the animal, which it seeks to gratify with their 
proper objects, are unconsciously subservient to 
this end of the principle of life : but the principle 
of spiritual life is a self-conscious principle, and 
must consciously intend and strive after its proper 
end. The immediate appetency of the plant is for 
49 



386 ON THE WILL. 

the elements of earth and air, which may be assim- 
ilated to its organic life ; the immediate appetite 
of the brute is for the outward object of sense by 
which the appetite is stimulated, and in the attain- 
ment of that its action terminates ; it is by a 
power not their own, unconsciously working in 
them, that this agency becomes subservient to the 
development of their beautiful and magnificent 
forms ; and what they are thus unconsciously, 
it is our duty to become by our own act, presenting 
to ourselves the end which the law of spiritual life 
prescribes to us, as our end and purpose. 

12. What then is the law of spiritual life, and 
the end which that law prescribes? I answer, in 
a word, the law of conscience ; or the absolute and 
unconditional prescripts of reason, as the law of 
conscience. It is in this, that we are placed in 
immediate and conscious relation to that higher 
spiritual world, to which our spirits of right be- 
long, and with which they ought to hold habitual 
communion. 

That which thus presents itself to us as a com- 
manding and authoritative law of duty, claiming our 
unconditional obedience, and prescribing to us an 
end paramount to the ends of nature, is not to be 
regarded as a product of the discursive understand- 
ing, even joined with the natural and moral affec- 
tions ; but a higher power, and a spiritual presence, 
the same in kind with our spirits, and by its pres- 
ence, always, so far as we receive it, enlightening 
our understandings and empowering our wills. In 
a word, it is the revelation in us of that higher 



ON THE WILL. 387 

spiritual power, or Being, shall I say, from whom 
our spirits had their birth, and in whom we live 
and move and have our being. 

The immediate presence of that power to our 
spiritual consciousness, is the only true ground of 
our conviction of the reality of any thing spiritual ; 
and it is only by wholly denying and forfeiting our 
spiritual prerogative, that we can lose that con- 
viction. 

13. The true end of our being, as presented 
by the spiritual law, is the realization, practically, 
in our own being, of that perfect idea which the 
law itself presupposes, and of which Christ was 
the glorious manifestation. To be holy, as God is 
holy, is the unconditional requisition of the law of 
our spiritual being. In the renewed and regener- 
ated soul, a hungering and thirsting after righteous- 
ness is the conscious actuation of the principle of 
spiritual life, striving after its appropriate object, 
and seeking to clothe itself with the perfect right/- 
eousness of Christ, in whom shone the fulness of 
divine perfection. But I must not enter also into 
theological mysteries, and will only add something 
more of the symbols of nature, by which light 
seems to me to be cast on spiritual things. 

14. The law of nature, it was said, through- 
out the sphere of organic life, is the law of self- 
production and self-seeking. Every principle of 
life strives after the realization of its own prede- 
termined idea, and in its proper agency subordi- 
nates whatever means its agency embraces to its 
own individual ends. But we see also that nature, 



388 ON THE WILL. 

or rather the supernatural, in and through the indi- 
vidual nature, provides also for the interest and 
propagation of the kind ; i. e., makes the individ- 
ual subservient to ends paramount to its individual 
ends. In many of the plants and of the insect 
tribes, the individual perishes in the reproduction 
of its kind. So too in the higher animals we see 
instincts implanted, which impel them to hazard, 
and even to sacrifice, their individual lives for the 
preservation of their offspring. 

How obviously is the purpose of nature here 
paramount to the welfare of the individual ; and 
how does the specific principle of life take pre- 
cedence, and manifest itself as of higher authority 
than the individual self-seeking principle. Yet 
the individual acts by impulses which are imparted 
to it as an individual, and is unconscious of the 
presence of a higher law, even while obeying it. 
So in that relation of sex, by which the multipli- 
cation of the species is secured, the individual may 
seek his own selfish gratifications, while nature 
has in it a higher purpose. Here, too, as in so 
many other cases, we are compelled to refer those 
agencies which appear in nature, as two correlative 
polar forces, to a higher specific unity, which has, 
therefore, its reality in the supernatural. Here is 
then a higher law, manifesting itself, asserting and 
securing its claims to the accomplishment of ends, 
in and through the individual, which are paramount 
to the ends which that individual, obeying the law 
of his nature, prescribes to himself. 



ON THE WILL. 389 

It is the law of the kind, seeking the interests 
of the kind, having its origin in a ground higher 
than the individual nature, and seeking ends para- 
mount to its ends. Suppose that law to rise into 
distinct consciousness, as a law to which our selfish 
ends ought to be subordinated ; and what will it 
be but the laws of conscience, which commands 
us to do to all men as we would have them do 
to us ; i. e., to seek the good of our kind. It is 
the universal law, the law of the kind, revealing 
itself in the individual consciousness, and for all 
men the same identical law of the universal reason. 
As an illustration, too, of the tendency of the nar- 
row, self-seeking principle, see how often all that 
is implanted, even in the instincts of human nature, 
for the interests of the kind, is subordinated as the 
means of base self-gratification, and the welfare 
of children sacrificed to the self-indulgence of the 
parent. 

15. It is only by freeing the spiritual principle 
from the limitations of that narrow and individual 
end which the individual nature prescribes, and 
placing it under that spiritual law which is con- 
genial to its own essence, that it can be truly free. 
When brought into the liberty with which the 
Spirit of God clothes it, it freely strives after those 
noble and glorious ends which reason and the Spirit 
of God prescribe. But as the wheat must be cast 
into the earth and die before it can bring forth 
fruit, and as the insect must sacrifice its individual 
life in order to the multiplication of its kind, so 
the individual self-will in man must be slain, must 



390 ON THE WILL. 

deny itself, and yield up its inmost principle of life, 
before that higher spiritual principle can practically 
manifest itself, which is rich in the fruits of the 
spirit, and which, as a seminal principle of living 
energy, multiplies the products of its power. 

I will just add here — See how near, according 
to the above way of looking at the objects of 
knowledge, every thing in nature is placed to its 
spiritual ground, and how the higher spiritual con- 
sciousness in man finds itself in immediate inter- 
course with the spiritual world; rather, in the 
immediate presence of God. 



ON THE RELATION OF MAN'S 



PERSONAL EXISTENCE AND IMMORTALITY 



THE UNDERSTANDING AND THE REASON. 



[in a letter to a friend.] 



Burlington, Dec 4, 1837. 

My dear Sir, — I began an answer to jour 
letter soon after receiving it, and wrote over more 
than a sheet like this, with a view to show the 
proper shape in which it seemed to me the ques- 
tion of immortality should be placed, relatively to 
the understanding and the reason. However, I 
was not satisfied with what I had written, and 
other duties have prevented my taking it up again. 
But it seems to me, in a word, that the under- 
standing and reason cannot properly be placed in 
antithesis to each other, in respect to this point, as 
in the conversation which you reported. That 
form of instinctive intelligence in the brute which 
most nearly approximates the human understand- 
ing, but is not enlightened by reason, (and so is but 



392 PERSONAL EXISTENCE 

the highest power of a sensuous nature, in its rela- 
tion to a world of sense,) is, indeed, to be sup- 
posed equally perishable with the organic form. 
But the understanding in man is differenced from 
the corresponding power in the brute, by its union 
with the spiritual, the supernatural, the universal 
reason. Now, though we may intellectually dis- 
tinguish, here, and speak of the understanding in 
distinction from reason, yet, in its proper charac- 
ter as the human understanding, it can no more be 
separated from the reason, on the one hand, than 
it can form the faculty of sense, on the other. 
Disjoined from and unempowered by the reason, 
as that which potentiates it for the apprehension of 
the universal and the supersensuous, the " faculty 
judging according to sense" would cease to be 
an understanding, and become identical with intel- 
ligence in the brute. It has before it, indeed, as 
the material of thought, as the correlative objec- 
tive on which its agency terminates, the phenom- 
ena of sense ; but it has behind it, as it were, as 
that in which it is grounded, and from which it re- 
ceives the inward life of its life, and which consti- 
tutes its true and very being, the universal life of 
reason. Now its union with reason is such, even 
in the unenlightened and unsanctified mind, that 
we properly term it a rational understanding. If 
we term it the discursive faculty, in distinction 
from reason as contemplative, still the purpose of 
its discursions is to reduce or bring back the mani- 
foldness of sense to the unity of reason, and not to 
lose itself in the bewilderments of sense. If we 



AND IMMORTALITY. 393 

compare it to Ezekiel's wheels, as that which 
runs to and fro in the world of sense, we must say, 
not only that it bears up the living creature, or 
manifests the living truths of reason in their rela- 
tion to sense, but the spirit of the living creature 
is in the wheels also. It is the potential indwel- 
ling of the universal life and light of reason, that 
makes it an understanding. Now we may, indeed, 
comparatively speaking, be blind to the apprehen- 
sion of rational truth, and lose ourselves in the 
fleeting and shadowy phantoms of sense ; but we 
can no more absolutely exclude the generalific and 
substantiating power of reason from our intellect, 
than we can inward freedom and responsibility 
from our will. 

In reference to the question proposed, indeed, it 
seems to me that the understanding and will are 
inseparable, so that we cannot conceive the finite 
understanding without the personal will, nor the 
will without the understanding ; and that the unity 
of these constitutes the principle of individuality 
in each man. If so, then you would of course 
say, that in its constituent idea as the correla- 
tive of its ultimate end, it is essentially immortal ; 
or that the form of intelligence and w 7 ill which 
constitutes the proper being of humanity in each 
individual, is so preconformed to, and so partakes 
of, the universal and spiritual, as to be, in its own 
right, placed in antithesis to the ever-becoming and 
continuously evanescent phenomena of nature, and 
to have a principle that is abiding, and one with 

itself. We must, I think, identify this principle 
50 



394 PERSONAL EXISTENCE 

with the understanding and will, if we identify it 
with the individual at all, as such ; since the rea- 
son, as contra-distinguished from the understand- 
ing, is universal, so that there is but one reason, 
the same in all. 

Some have held, you know, that the individual 
soul is not in fact immortal in its own proper es- 
sence, but only becomes so by regeneration, re- 
ceiving by this the principle of a higher life, with- 
out which it is a mere perishable product of the 
life of nature. But it seems to me, that this con- 
tradicts philosophy no less than revelation. The 
idea of man as being in a fallen state, and in bon- 
dage to nature, according to the Christian system, 
implies, at least, that humanity, in its original and 
rational idea, is of supernatural essence ; and the 
consciousness which every man has of an obliga- 
tion to obey a law above nature and absolute in 
its requirements, teaches the same truth. Hence, 
though the understanding may turn itself to the 
world of sense, and be self-blinded to the light of 
reason, and the will swerve from the perfect law 
of conscience, in obedience to the lusts of the 
flesh, yet the one no more ceases to be an under- 
standing, than the other ceases to be a will. Rea- 
son is still the true and proper light of the under- 
standing, as conscience is the proper law of the 
will. 

When we speak of the understanding as the re- 
flex faculty by which we repeat to ourselves the 
experiences of sense, and which has the phenom- 
ena of sense as its proper correlative objects, we 



AND IMMORTALITY. 395 

must still be careful not to conceive it as being: 
produced out of our sensuous nature. As the in- 
telligentical principle in the self-conscious individ- 
ual 7, it has, indeed, its birth in nature, and has 
the powers and experiences of the man's individ- 
ual nature as its correlative objective, and as the 
condition and means of its developement. But it 
has its true origin from a far other source, and 
" cometh from above." The developement of the 
faculty of self-conscious reflection and of a con- 
sciously responsible will, is a birth of the spiritual, 
of a power specifically above nature, individ- 
ualizing itself in each personal subject, and 
rightfully claiming a dominion over the agencies 
and tendencies of nature. It brings its own 
law of being, and that which prescribes its true 
and proper end, from its own higher sources. 
The law thus received, and the end thus pre- 
scribed, are themselves above the law which na- 
ture obeys, and the end which nature strives after. 
That we turn from the inward light of truth to 
lose ourselves in an abandonment to the outer 
world of sense, is a debasement of the understand- 
ing, no less than a perversion of the will, and is a 
fall of our proper humanity from its own proper 
sphere into the sphere of nature. That principle 
of intelligence which we call understanding, in 
other words, has for its proper end the attainment 
of rational truth ; or it is its proper end to become 
rational, in the sense that the conditions and limi- 
tations which pertain to its knowledge as the 
" faculty judging according to sense," shall be re- 



396 PERSONAL EXISTENCE 

moved by the attainment of absolute or strictly 
rational intuitions. Thus all the conditional phe- 
nomena of gravitation, are subsumed in the law of 
gravity. It is the end of the understanding, there- 
fore, to lose itself in the reason, as it is of the 
human will to lose itself in the absolute law of the 
divine will, the natural in the spiritual, the condi- 
tional in the absolute, the finite in the infinite. It 
has its birth in nature, and the world of sense is 
the material which it assimilates to its own higher 
form as the means of its growth ; but it seeks an 
end, and can rest only in the attainment of an end, 
that is beyond and above the ends of nature. All 
this, as it seems to me, must be predicated of the 
understanding, no less than of the will ; and of 
both, as constituting the one principle of individu- 
ality in the man. The understanding, in this case, 
no more ceases to be the individual understanding, 
as the condition of reflection and individual self- 
consciousness, than the will ceases to be an indi- 
vidual will, as the condition of personal responsi- 
bility ; i. e. neither the finite understanding nor 
the finite will is to be conceived as so swallowed 
up and absorbed into the universal, as to cease to 
be a distinct individualized principle of personal 
existence. 

Thus, on the whole, you will see that I regard 
the understanding, like the will, not as pertaining 
to the man's nature, but as that higher power of 
knowledge, by virtue of which he is able to take 
cognizance of that nature, and make it the object 
of thought and knowledge. It therefore pertains 



AND IMMORTALITY. 397 

to the supernatural and spiritual, and is inseparable 
from the individuality of our personal being. I am 
aware that what I have said is not all very perspic- 
uous, and that I have, especially in the last long 
paragraph, made transitions which it may be diffi- 
cult to follow. Still, I know not that I should 
better it, without writing a system, so as to place 
all the parts in their proper relation to the whole, 
and thus show where the understanding belongs. 



DISCOURSE. 



AND HEREIN DO I EXERCISE MYSELF TO HAVE AL- 
WAYS A CONSCIENCE VOID OF OFFENCE TOWARD 
GOD AND TOWARD MAN— Acts xxiv. 16. 

God has not left us, like the brutes that perish, 
to the dominion of sense, and the blind impulses 
of nature. He has not formed us to follow im- 
plicitly and without reflection the onward current 
of our inclinations, unconscious of the principles 
that actuate us, and regarding only the outward 
objects of desire. When he had distributed to the 
other portions of his animate creation their several 
powers, each after its kind, he created man in his 
own image, and breathed into him the breath of a 
higher and more mysterious life. He endued him 
with those principles of spiritual and personal 
being, by which he is far exalted, not only in 
power and dominion, but in his essential character 
and worth, above the beasts of the field and the 
fowls of the air. He has not only given him a 
more comprehensive intelligence in respect to the 
world of sense, than belongs to brute and irrational 
natures, but has imparted the principles of a higher 



ON CONSCIENCE. 399 

knowledge, and opened his vision upon the objects 
of the spiritual world. He has made him capable 
of emancipating his thoughts from the imperfect 
and ever-changing present, and rising to the con- 
templation of the perfect, the infinite, the un- 
changeable, and the eternal. He has given him, 
as an essential and constituent principle of his 
being, the power of distinguishing between right 
and wrong, between good and evil, and as neces- 
sarily connected with this, of recognizing a law of 
moral rectitude, — a law that takes cognizance of 
actions and events, not in their outward relations 
and consequences, but in regard to the motives 
and principles in which they originated. He gave 
him the power of self-reflection and self-conscious- 
ness ; the power of looking inward upon the work- 
ings of his own spirit, and trying it by principles 
of truth and duty. To these he superadded a 
power still more mysterious, — that faculty of free 
will, which is the condition of moral responsibility, 
and of all essential distinctions between moral good 
and evil. From the conscious possession of this 
power, indeed, and its possible opposition to a per- 
fect and holy law, results not the knowledge only, 
but the very possibility of that which alone is truly 
and essentially evil. From the connexion of the 
will with the inward and conscious recognition of 
such a law, and with that power of self-inspection 
which enables us to compare it with the require- 
ments of the law, it results that we and all men 
are personal and responsible agents ; that we are 
responsible for the moving and originating princi- 



400 A DISCOURSE 

pies, which give their character to all our actions ; 
that it is possible for us to incur, and that we do 
incur, that evil, which should be the object of our 
deepest abhorrence. 

Here, then, we find a point in the character of 
man of the deepest interest, if rightly understood ; 
that we are made capable of knowing and experi- 
encing the difference between moral or rather spir- 
itual good and evil, and that we have a conscience. 
Let us inquire, therefore, what is the nature and 
office of that power which St. Paul speaks of in 
the text, what does it require of us, and by what 
peculiar sanctions are its requisitions enforced. 

The remarks already made by way of introduc- 
tion, are designed in part to indicate the general 
principles necessary to a full examination of these 
questions. At present, however, we can consider 
the nature of conscience only so far as to explain 
its peculiar character and necessary conditions, as 
the practical law of our actions. Something of 
this kind, and not a little also of reflection and 
accurate discrimination, seem unavoidable, if we 
would understand the essential nature and vindi- 
cate the reality of that which is in fact for us the 
ground and substance of all reality. Let me refer 
every one, then, to his own conscious experience 
and reflection, for the interpretation and truth of 
the following statements. When we notice the 
actions of our fellow-men in the intercourse of 
society, we are conscious of marking a striking 
diversity in those actions, and in the feelings which 
they awaken in our own minds. While we look 



ON CONSCIENCE. 401 

upon one with approbation, as a praiseworthy act, 
another is contemplated with abhorrence, as a deed 
of darkness. Again, we are conscious that these 
diverse sentiments in our minds have regard, not 
to the possible or actual consequences of the deed 
contemplated, as advantageous or otherwise, but 
to the moving principle in the agent. The same 
action, followed by the same outward results, is 
seen to be good or bad, according to the character 
of the principle in which it had its origin. The 
man who supplies the necessities of a poor neigh- 
bor, performs an act, the effects of which he can- 
not predict. It may raise up that neighbor from 
obscurity or the grave, and make him a blessing 
to his country, or it may preserve him for deeds of 
murder and treason. Is the benefactor the proper 
object of praise or blame for these consequences 
of his act ? Certainly, no farther than they were 
previously contemplated and designed in connexion 
with the act itself. If he bestowed his charity in 
the simplicity of his heart, with no other view 
than to obey the law of love, who will not pro- 
nounce him w r orthy of blessing ? But if he be- 
stowed it with the selfish and wicked purpose of 
making his neighbor the corrupt tool and pander 
of his own vices, who does not see and feel that, 
whether he obtain his purpose or not, he has al- 
ready incurred the guilt and the curse ? We can- 
not indeed know the motive of another in such 
cases — for no man knoweth the things of a man, 
save the spirit of man, which is in him ; but the 
judgment which we nevertheless pass upon the 
51 



402 A DISCOURSE 

act, always proceeds upon the assumed and imputed 
character of the motive. How is it, then, when the 
act contemplated is our own act ? Here we can 
look beyond the outward circumstances and con- 
sequences, and, instead of inferring the motive 
and purpose from the outward act, we have an 
immediate and intuitive knowledge of that which 
constitutes its essential character as a moral act, 
in the originating principle itself. At least, such 
and so wonderful is the constitution of our being, 
that, unlike the inferior orders of creation, we 
have, together with the power, a conscious obliga- 
tion thus to know ourselves, and, while we act, 
to turn our thoughts inward upon the spiritual 
source from which our actions spring. Are not 
the sentiments of which we are conscious when 
we do this, precisely the same as in the former 
case, except that now the feeling has immediate 
reference to self, and becomes self-approbation or 
self-reproach ? Indeed, the sentiments with which 
we look upon the conduct of others, must necessa- 
rily have arisen primarily from our ascribing to 
them the same actuating principles, and the same 
grounds of responsibility, of which we have ac- 
quired a knowledge in our own inward experience. 
For in ourselves only, and by reflecting upon our 
own consciousness, can we know the essential dis- 
tinction between the principles of good and evil, 
and the true grounds of praise or blame-worthi- 
ness. It is with this distinction, as we find it in the 
motives and principles of our own conduct, there- 
fore, that we are chiefly concerned ; and we shall 



ON CONSCIENCE. 403 

have gained one step towards our object when it 
is added, that conscience is the power which, in the 
bosom of every man, bears testimony to the character 
of his actions, as good or evil, as directed to right 
or wrong ends, and thus decides for him the ques- 
tion of his innocence or guilt. It is an indwelling 
and ever-present power. It is capable of witness- 
ing, and, if we give heed to it as we ought, does 
witness and record, the character of every act and 
purpose ; and we may thus have always within us 
the testimony of our consciences to our good or 
evil deeds. 

But here the question will be suggested, how is 
this power exercised ? Before the character of 
our doings can be recorded, it must have been 
determined and made known. How, then, and 
by what law are our actions judged ? What is the 
authority of conscience for the testimony which it 
bears ? To these questions it may be answered, in 
accordance with the language of St. Paul, that all 
men have present in their own consciousness a liv- 
ing and abiding law of moral rectitude, which in 
its faithful application determines the character of 
every deed and thought. This inward law, self- 
consciously applied to the motives and purposes of 
our actions, is the ground of conscience. It may 
with propriety be called the law of conscience. It 
is, indeed, combined with the office of conscience 
already described, properly denominated the con- 
science itself. Thus in the text the apostle seems 
to mean, that he always aimed to do that which 
conscience or the law of conscience required of 



404 A DISCOURSE 

him. Taken in this more comprehensive sense, 
then, conscience is an indwelling and inalienable 
law of duty, manifesting itself to the soul of every 
rational being, and prescribing the ultimate ends 
at which he is to aim. It is, moreover, an abso- 
lute and unconditional law, since no change of 
condition can alter the ends which it prescribes. 
What it commands and what it forbids, it com- 
mands and forbids, therefore, imperatively and 
without appeal. The law, observe, is applied di- 
rectly and simply to the motive * and controlling 
purpose of our actions, as related to the ultimate 
ends at which we aim, and hereby every man knows 
for himself, and in his own consciousness, whether 
his deeds are good or evil, whether he obeys or vio- 
lates his convictions of duty, whether he is aiming 
at ends which the law of conscience approves, or at 
those which it condemns. Obviously no man can 
innocently do that which he believes wrong. No 
man can conscientiously violate his conscience. 
The supposition is self-contradictory and absurd. 

If now 7 it be inquired, what relation, then, has 
conscience, in this use of the term, to the law and 
will of God, the answer is, it is one and the same 
thing. God has revealed his law in the con- 
sciences of all men. Those who have not the 
written law, are a law unto themselves, and show 

* By motive, I mean not motive in the common acceptation, 
but the moving principle in the agent ; the subjective character, 
by virtue of which the outward object becomes a motive to good or 
evil. In this sense the ultimate motive force is always in the will 
of the agent. 



ON CONSCIENCE. 405 

the work of tho law written in their hearts. The 
Jews had, as the apostle tells us, the form of know- 
ledge and of truth, that is, the form and linea- 
ments of truth, distinctly manifested in their writ- 
ten law ; but still, as he clearly teaches us, the 
same truth, the same knowledge of good and evil, 
which is written in the hearts of all men. The 
truth of God is without contradiction. The law 
of God is a universal law, one and the same for all 
men, and directing all to the same ultimate end. 
Is he the God of the Jews only ? Is he not also of 
the Gentiles? The consciences of all men judge 
them daily, and all men will be judged at the last 
day, by the same immutable and eternal law of 
God. 

It may be objected here, that the consciences of 
men have not the same law, inasmuch as they dif- 
fer in their conscientious views of the same act. 
One believeth that he may eat all things ; another, 
who is weak, eateth herbs ; and no man may make 
the law of his conscience the standard for the con- 
science of another. For who art thou, that judg- 
est another man's servant ? But though it would 
lead us too far from the present purpose to make 
all the distinctions necessary for entirely removing 
this objection, it may be sufficient for the present 
to remark that the diversity of men's judgments in 
such cases results in fact not from a diversity in 
the law of their consciences, as prescribing ulti- 
mate ends, but from a difference in their concep- 
tions of the act to which it is applied, considered 
as a means to the end. These differ as men's 



406 A DISCOURSE 

understandings and judgments differ. All that is 
necessary to convince us that a man may honestly 
differ from us in a case of conscience, then, is the 
possibility of his having a different view of the cir- 
cumstances of the case and its relation to ultimate 
ends. We always take it for granted, that if he 
have the same view of it, — that is, if it be the 
same moral act in his apprehension as in ours, and 
if he judge honestly, his judgment will coincide 
with our own conscientious decision. In other 
words, we always assume practically the truth of 
the doctrine, that all men have the same law of 
conscience, and that the same ultimate end is con- 
sciously prescribed to all. 

Again, it has already been remarked, that the 
law of God, so revealed in the consciences of all, 
is absolute and without repeal. It should be 
added, by way of explanation, that its rectitude 
and its claims to our obedience must not, conse- 
quently, be resolved into any other principle dis- 
tinct from the law itself. We may, indeed, resolve 
its obligations into the authority of the Divine law ; 
but this is simply to recognize what has already 
been said, that it is identical with that law in its 
authority and in its requisitions. Considering it 
in this light, we may not inquire why God, either 
through the conscience or by his word, has given 
us such a law, rather than a different one. We 
mistake the nature of conscience, and of the law 
of God, if we seek to comprehend the grounds of 
their authority, or to find reasons for obeying them. 
They involve their own grounds, and carry their 



ON CONSCIENCE. 407 

justifying reasons with them. They are them- 
selves but manifestations of the supreme and infi- 
nite self-revealing reason and will of God — not 
an arbitrary dictation of mere absolute will, but 
the will of a holy God, acting from the necessity 
of his own divine perfections, declaring, and en- 
forcing in all hearts, the dictates of infinite wis- 
dom and goodness. The law is holy, and the com- 
mandment holy, and just, and good. Our inner 
man, our conscience, approves them as such, not 
because this or that reason can be assigned to jus- 
tify them, but for what they are in themselves ; not 
with reference to their consequences, but in their 
essential character. They are good, because God 
and our consciences approve them ; and they are 
thus approved, because they are good — good in 
themselves and for their own sake. God, as re- 
vealed in the manifestations of his holy and per- 
fect will, is himself the highest, the ultimate good, 
of all rational beings. We cannot go beyond that 
w r hich is ultimate. We cannot assign a reason for 
that which is itself the perfection of reason, nor 
conceive as referable to any other ground of its de- 
sirableness, that which is itself an absolute good, 
and the satisfying portion of the rational soul. 
Whatever, then, the perfect law of God requires 
us to do or to be, is in itself good, and desirable 
for its own sake. To do and to be that which our 
consciences and the law of God command us to do 
and to be, is absolutely and unconditionally right 
and good for every rational soul ; to do and to be 



408 A DISCOURSE 

other than they require of us, is unconditionally 
wrong and evil. 

But to render this view of conscience perfectly 
intelligible, in relation to that good and evil which 
are its specific objects, it is essential to observe, 
farther, that the law of conscience presupposes a 
responsible will. It concerns only those acts 
which we feel to be our own acts. It passes sen- 
tence upon the determinations of our own free will, 
and those only. For these we are, and know our- 
selves to be, responsible ; and it is only in the con- 
sciousness of this freedom, that any act becomes our 
own act. Without this, the act and the agent 
cease to have a moral character, and conscience and 
responsibility are ivords without meaning. The 
good and evil to which conscience relates, are not 
physical good or evil, or actions considered rela- 
tively to their physical or natural consequences, as 
beneficial or otherwise. The good which con- 
science commands, and the evil which it forbids, 
are moral and spiritual. It regards actions in their 
spiritual source. It takes cognizance of the rela- 
tions of a free will to the perfect and unconditional 
law of God. To be conformed to that law, is 
good ; to be unconformed, is evil. Any other good 
may be to us the occasion of rejoicing, but not of 
self-approbation, and of that peace of God, which 
passeth understanding. Any other evil may be 
matter of regret, but not of remorse. It is only 
guilt, the conscious violation of a law which con- 
science approves, it is only this inward spiritual 
evil, that fills the soul with horror, and makes us 



ON CONSCIENCE. 409 

know and feel what is indeed essentially evil. 
This is the evil, for which we are and know our- 
selves to be responsible. It is the self-conscious 
freedom of a personal will, therefore, that renders 
possible the sense of amenability to an absolute 
law. Of that sense, and of the consequent obli- 
gations of conscience, we cannot divest ourselves. 
The abiding law of conscience, and its claims to 
the obedience of the will, are inalienable. It is 
the most inward and essential principle of our ra- 
tional being. It is that by which we are most 
nearly and consciously connected with Him, in 
whom we live, and move, and have our being. It 
is the voice of that abiding and living truth, which 
reveals itself inwardly to all men, and is more than 
man. It is that essential truth in our spiritual 
consciousness, which, however it may be sup- 
pressed for a time, and held in unrighteousness, no 
sophistry of the human understanding can wholly 
pervert ; and which will, sooner or later, vindicate 
itself by the light of eternity and the power of 
Omnipotence. It is the still small voice of God, 
his guiding and warning voice, revealing, in the 
sanctuary of our souls, the truths of eternity, re- 
proving us for our sins, recalling us from our wan- 
derings, and saying unceasingly, this, this is the 
way ; walk ye in it. 

But in proceeding to examine what are some of 
the requirements of conscience, it should be re- 
marked more directly, that none can be more ob- 
vious, or more necessarily involved in its very na- 
ture, than this : that we always consult it, and, with 
52 



410 A DISCOURSE 

simplicity of heart, listen to its dictates. To live 
and act inconsiderately, to yield to a reckless lev- 
ity of mind, or to suffer ourselves to float onward 
as we are borne by the current of the world, is of 
itself a violation of our most solemn duty, and a 
forfeiture of our prerogative, as responsible be- 
ings, capable of the obligations of conscience. We 
are bound, at all times, and know ourselves to be 
so, as rational beings, to act rationally, and with a 
conscious reference to our responsibility. We are 
bound to bring forth into the clear daylight of our 
consciousness, the secret, and, to the eyes of oth- 
ers, inscrutable motives, of all our actions. We 
violate the obligations of conscience, we break 
their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from 
us, if we refuse, or neglect, distinctly to recognize 
the law of conscience, and apply it to every prin- 
ciple and purpose of our hearts. To act igno- 
rantly and in the dark, with respect to the motives 
that govern us, is of itself to act wrong. The duty 
of serious and conscientious reflection is a funda- 
mental duty, in the neglect of w T hich no other can 
be performed aright. To neglect this, and to act 
with a view only to the gratification of our appe- 
tites and passions, to make the opinions and cus- 
toms of the world the rule of our conduct, is to 
turn our backs upon the light, and to involve our- 
selves in moral darkness. We cannot, by so do- 
intf, escape from our responsibility. It reaches to 
every thought ; and for every idle word we shall 
give account in the day of judgment. We are 
bound to be always in earnest. Conscience re- 



ON CONSCIENCE. 411 

quires us to examine our hearts, to take heed to 
our ways, to walk circumspectly, not as fools, but 
as wise. It requires us to reverence every con- 
scious feeling of obligation, as that which consti- 
tutes the highest capacity and excellency of our 
being, as a revelation of the law of God in our 
hearts. To be without conscience, is to be no 
longer men ; is to be estranged from our true be- 
ing ; to be without God in the world. The con- 
scious recognition of responsibility to the law of 
conscience, is, in a word, an essential principle of 
our personal being. To lose this, is to lose our- 
selves, to become the abandoned slaves of circum- 
stances, to betray the trust which God has com- 
mitted to us, and to lose our souls. 

But again, the obedience which conscience re- 
quires, is spiritual obedience. It has been already 
observed, that the law of conscience takes cogni- 
zance of motives and principles ; and that the good 
and evil with which it is concerned, are spiritual 
good and evil. But this may need, perhaps, far- 
ther illustration. By true spiritual obedience, then, 
is to be understood the obedience of that which is 
spiritual in man ; the obedience of his personal will. 
But the question returns again, what is meant by 
the obedience of the will ? To answer this, let 
me ask, then, Is the man properly subject to the 
law, and truly conformed to it, when, from some 
inward principle distinct from the law and from 
the love of it, he yields a constrained obedience to 
its requirements ? Conscience requires us, for ex- 
ample, to speak the truth, and to deal uprightly. 



412 A DISCOURSE 

We obey, that is, we perform the outward and vis- 
ible acts which obedience involves ; but the prin- 
ciple which impels us to do so, is a regard to the 
good opinion of our neighbors, a regard to our 
worldly interests ; or perhaps the fear of future 
punishment ; that is, for a selfish end, and under a 
slavish condition. Is this such an obedience as 
will satisfy the demands of the law ? Certainly 
not. We know that the law is spiritual ; and 
however studiously w T e may conform our outward 
actions to its requirements, however cautiously we 
may bring our words and thoughts into conformity 
with them, so long as we do it from the constraint 
of a wrong motive, from a self-seeking and sepa- 
rative principle, and for a wrong end, so long we 
fail of spiritual obedience, and come short of the 
glory of God. Conscience requires that we obey 
the law, not from some foreign consideration, not 
for the sake of some other good, but for its own 
sake, and because conformity to it is itself the high- 
est good. It requires us to love truth, to love righ- 
teousness, to love the Lord our God, for their own 
sake, and with all our hearts. Can a love to God 
which requires the compulsion of fear, or the stim- 
ulant of an expected reward, then, be such as he 
will accept ? No ; by no means. The principle 
of that spiritual obedience which the law of con- 
science requires, must be found in an inward con- 
formity of the will itself, of its ultimate and con- 
trolling motive, to the living word and spirit of 
God. It requires that the law itself, in its living 
power and controlling energy, should become the 



ON CONSCIENCE. 413 

inward principle and motive of all our actions ; 
that the will should act, not by constraint, but 
freely, spontaneously, in accordance with a holy and 
pei feet law of rectitude, the law itself working in 
as by its own exceeding lawfulness. The inward 
power and spirit of holiness, so actuating and 
quickening us, is the law of the spirit of life. 
Without this, our best obedience is but an obedi- 
ence to the law of works, a lifeless, spiritless obe- 
dience ; and the commandment, which was or- 
dained unto life, we shall find, with the Apostle, 
to be unto death. The word of God is quick, 
(that is, a living word,) and powerful, and sharper 
than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the 
dividing asunder of the soul and spirit, and of the 
joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts 
and intents of the heart. In a word, though the 
conscience is not sufficient of itself to produce that 
spiritual obedience, which, in fallen beings, in be- 
ings that are carnal and sold under sin, needs 
for its accomplishment the life-giving influences of 
the divine Spirit, it is yet abundantly sufficient to 
teach all men the deficiency of any other obedi- 
ence, and thus to reveal to them their sinfulness 
and alienation from the life of God. It is suffi- 
cient to convince all men, when aroused from the 
lethargy of sin and led to reflect upon its require- 
ments, that their hearts are not right with God ; 
that there is a law in the members, warring against 
the law of the mind, and bringing them into cap- 
tivity to the law of sin. That holy law which is 
written in the heart of every man, is adequate to 



414 A DISCOURSE 

accuse and to condemn; to convince him that 
there is in him, by his birth in Adam, a root of bit- 
terness, a principle of evil, that vitiates all his ac- 
tions ; that there is a principle of action in his 
will, an originating source and fountain of evil in 
the very heart of his being, which will not endure 
the searching eye of God ; which does not come to 
the light, lest its deeds should be reproved. So 
long as such a principle remains, the conscience 
cannot be void of offence, or be at peace with God. 
The claims of conscience can never be satisfied 
with any thing less than an entire surrender of the 
will itself. They cannot be satisfied, till the in- 
ward and evil principle, which seeks an end dis- 
tinct from that which the law of God proposes, is 
eradicated, and our will becomes one with the 
divine will. Thus the law is our schoolmaster, to 
bring us to Christ ; to convince us of the inefficacy 
of any obedience that flows from a will uncon- 
formed, in its essential principle, to the will of 
God ; and our need of that renewing and life-giv- 
ing spirit, which Christ came to impart ; to teach 
us, that no obedience but the obedience of faith, 
that no law but the law of the spirit of life in 
Christ Jesus, as the inward and controlling power 
in our hearts, can prepare us to stand before God 
in peace. 

Time will only permit us to make a single re- 
mark further in regard to the requisitions of con- 
science ; and this is, that conscience requires us 
necessarily to admit the truth and reality of all that 
is essential to the rational vindication of its own 



ON CONSCIENCE. 415 

truth, and of the authority which it claims. To 
illustrate this, let us suppose that a man professes 
to have convinced himself of the truth of the doc- 
trines of materialism or fatalism, — of the doctrine, 
for example, that, though we seem to act freely, 
yet in fact all our actions are necessitated by a 
power out of ourselves, such, and acting in such a 
manner, as to render the idea of responsibility con- 
tradictory and absurd ; such, in short, as to resolve 
our agency into a mere instrumental and mechan- 
ical agency. Would not this, if truly believed 
and practically applied, necessarily subvert the 
authority of conscience, make its claims a solemn 
mockery, and place the feeling of remorse on a 
level with the horrors of a feverish dream ? Can, 
then, a doctrine thus subversive of the reality of 
conscience itself when seen to be so, be believed or 
confided in without a violation of conscience? 
Does not conscience command us to believe that 
we act freely, in such a sense as to render the 
feeling of responsibility a w T ell-grounded and ra- 
tional feeling ? Can w 7 e in fact so believe a doc- 
trine that would seem to free us from the obli^a- 
tions of conscience, as not to feel in the commis- 
sion of crime the horrors of remorse ? Go, ask the 
experience of the murderer. Let his heart be 
entrenched in the strong holds of unbelief ; let him 
have been persuaded that heaven and hell are vis- 
ions of the fancy, and death an eternal sleep ; or 
that he acted only as the instrument of a blind and 
necessitating fate. Will this serve to cheat the 
conscience of its claims, and will it lay aside its 



416 A DISCOURSE 

terrors ? By no means. Conscience is too deep- 
ly seated to be thus removed from its steadfastness. 
No arts of self-delusion, and no subtilty of false 
philosophy, can strip it of its authority, or disarm 
it of its power. When awakened by the grosser 
violations of its law, it reasserts and enforces its 
authority, with a power before which all the de- 
lusions of misbelief are as the spiders web. " Re- 
morse is the implicit creed of the guilty." It is 
on this ground, and from a principle of power thus 
inalienable in the very heart of our being, that we 
are commanded, as by the voice of a holy and 
omnipotent legislator, to ascribe reality and actual 
existence to all those ideas which are necessary 
to the authority of conscience itself; to the ideas 
of the soul, of free-will, of immortality, and of 
God. We are not left, in a point so essential to 
the obligations of conscience itself, to derive our 
knowledge or our faith from the influences of edu- 
cation, or the uncertain speculations of our own 
understandings. This is a faith which no man 
can learn from another, but which every man may 
and must find in himself. The righteousness 
which is of faith speaketh on this wise : — Say not 
in thine heart, who shall ascend into heaven, or 
who shall descend into the deep. The word is 
nigh thee, in thy mouth, and in thy heart. It is 
an all-powerful and convincing word ; and he that 
hearkens not to the still small voice of its admo- 
nitions and warnings, he that is contentious and 
does not confide in its truth, but trusts in unright- 
eousness and unbelief, shall hear its denunciations 



ON CONSCIENCE. 417 

of indignation and wrath, in a voice which he can- 
not mistake. Confide, then, with humility and 
submission of spirit, in that indwelling and ever- 
present power, which claims over you an authority 
you cannot question, and enforces it with sanctions 
you cannot escape. 

But let us proceed to inquire more particularly, 
for a moment, what are the peculiar sanctions by 
which the requisitions of conscience are enforced. 
What are the immediate, the known, and conscious 
results of obeying or of violating the convictions 
of our duty ? For the truth and reality of such 
sanctions, observe, w T e depend not upon outward 
evidence, or the arguments of a speculative reason. 
We may appeal to your own experience, to your 
own consciousness. What does their testimony 
import, then, with regard to the question before 
us ? Have you ever found occasion, let me ask, 
to regret that you obeyed in any instance the voice 
of conscience ; or was the consciousness of having 
done your duty ever attended by the strange and 
mysterious feeling of remorse ? Even when, by 
obeying your convictions of right, you have failed 
of some worldly advantage, which a worse man 
would have secured, though you might regret the 
loss, have you regretted the act that occasioned it ? 
Has not rather the conviction of having sacrificed 
interest to duty been to you a matter of inward 
joy and triumph ? Supposing your experience to 
have been such as, according to human observa- 
tion, would be strongly calculated to shake your 
faith ; supposing your honesty has exposed you to 
53 



418 A DISCOURSE 

oppression and injustice, while your unjust and 
unprincipled oppressor has been permitted in the 
providence of God to prosper in his wickedness ; 
does not a moment's reflection awaken a conscious- 
ness of moral worth, in view of your conduct, 
which you would not exchange for all the worldly 
advantages which prosperous wickedness could 
ever obtain ? This, notwithstanding the influence 
of a worldly spirit in blinding our minds to the 
superior nature of moral good, is yet the conscious 
experience of every man who has knowingly and 
intentionally sacrificed an outward advantage to 
preserve the inward purity of his conscience. And 
if such be the case in regard to partial acts of self- 
denial ; if, when you obey a particular require- 
ment at the expense of some worldly good, you 
are conscious of a corresponding peace of mind, 
have you not reason from your own experience to 
anticipate increasing happiness from increasing 
holiness ? Ask those who have made the greatest 
progress in subjugating themselves to the law of 
conscience. Ask those who have surrendered 
themselves in the integrity of their whole being ; 
those who have not only denied this and that pas- 
sion and appetite, but the inward and ultimate 
principle of self-will ; who have received the law 
of holiness into their hearts in the love of it ; ask 
them of their experience, and they will tell you of 
that peace of God, which passeth all understand- 
ing. Great peace have they that love thy law, 
says the Psalmist, and nothing shall offend them. 
But what, on the other hand, has been your expe- 



ON CONSCIENCE. 419 

rience, when you have knowingly violated the 
obligations of duty ? Have you been conscious of 
the same peace of mind, and found the same in- 
ward satisfaction in reflecting upon your conduct ? 
Have you delighted in this case to bring your 
actions to the light ; to recall again and again the 
motives by which you were actuated ; to make 
them manifest to the inward eye of your con- 
sciousness, and compare them with your known 
duty ? No, it may safely and confidently be 
answered for every individual of our sinful race ; 
the conscious violation of the law of duty is at- 
tended rather by feelings of disquiet, and an inward 
shrinking from that light of conscience, which 
would more clearly expose the character of our 
doings. Every one that doeth evil, hateth the 
light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds 
should be reproved. However prosperous and 
successful in its outward results may be the com- 
mission of evil deeds, the inward accompaniments 
are a fearful withdrawing of the soul from com- 
munion with itself, a conscious feeling of self- 
distrust, and misgiving, and dread. The heart is 
no longer steadfast and self-assured ; and in place 
of that cheerful confidence which belongs to the 
heart conscious of its own integrity, we find a 
slavish fear, a sense of alienation from that holy 
law which urges its claims upon us, and a dislike 
to retain God in our knowledge. Even when 
given up to a reprobate mind, there is still an abid- 
ing conviction that all is not right ; an indistinct, 
perhaps, yet fearful looking for of judgment. It 



420 A DISCOURSE 

needs but a moment's reflection to remind every 
one that this must be and is the case, even in our 
best estate, and when at the height of worldly 
prosperity and enjoyment, so long as the heart is 
unreconciled to God. So long as men offend wil- 
fully against the law of conscience, they love dark- 
ness rather than light ; and could they always shun 
the light of truth, could they forever escape the 
knowledge of themselves, could they truly and for- 
ever cast off from them the binding power of a 
holy and unchangeable law, could they cease to 
be men, and take their place with the brutes, they 
might then follow blindly their own chosen way, 
and perish with the brutes. But though we may 
act like the brutes, we cannot escape the respon- 
sibilities of men. We cannot always, even in this 
life, escape, in the commission of sin, such a 
knowledge of our own hearts, as will not only 
make us feel that all is not right there, but will 
convince us that all is wrong, and overwhelm us 
with the sense of shame and remorse. In those 
moments of reflection, which will sometimes take 
by surprise the most reckless and the most repro- 
bate, the stifled sense of responsibility is awak- 
ened, and a calm and dreadful eye is upon them, 
which seems to search the very secrets of their 
hearts. They are made to know and feel that 
there is a power within them which they cannot 
always suppress, and that there is no darkness nor 
shadow of death where the workers of iniquity 
may hide themselves. Nor may our consciences 
be for a moment quieted in sin by the delusive 



ON CONSCIENCE. 421 

notion, that such feelings are the result of educa- 
tion, and that our sense of guilt and remorse will 
prove groundless. Nor let it be supposed that the 
anticipations of good and evil which accompany 
the consciousness of uprightness and of sin, rest 
merely on the evidence of authority, or of past ex- 
perience. It is characteristic of those sanctions 
which are immediately connected with the require- 
ments of conscience, that they are essentially 
involved in the existence, in the heart, of those 
principles which it commands or prohibits ; and 
the present consciousness of evil, of essential evil, 
in our moral and spiritual being, involves as it 
were the future in the present. The anticipation 
of future evil is in this case inseparable from the 
consciousness of present guilt in the soul of the 
guilty. Does the fearful looking for of judgment 
and fiery indignation, before which the soul of the 
wretched criminal stands aghast, proceed merely 
from its past experience of the temporal conse- 
quences of sin ; or from the fear of that which the 
evidence and authority of a written revelation alone 
have impressed upon his mind ? Why, then, may 
not one creed counteract the effect of another, and 
infidelity save him from the pangs of remorse ? 
No! conscience is its own evidence, and its re- 
wards are sure. The faith which the good man 
feels, with the cheerful enjoyment of a good con- 
science which lightens his path, is itself the sub- 
stance of the things hoped for, the evidence of the 
things not seen. His holiness and his happiness 
are inherently and indissolubly connected together. 



422 A DISCOURSE. 

And on the other hand, the sense of guilt, and 
shame, and remorse, are the inseparable accompa- 
niments of sin, and have the same relation to fu- 
ture misery, which true faith and conscious peace 
of mind have to future glory. They are the incip- 
ient gnawings of that worm that never dies ; the 
kindling flashes of that fire that will never be 
quenched. 



DISCOURSE, 



NECESSARY RELATION OF OUR REAL PUR- 
POSES TO THEIR LEGITIMATE RESULTS 
UNDER THE DIVINE GOVERNMENT. 



FOR THERE IS NOTHING COVERED, THAT SHALL NOT 
BE REVEALED; NEITHER HID, THAT SHALL NOT 
BE KNOWN. THEREFORE, WHATSOEVER YE HAVE 
SPOKEN IN DARKNESS, SHALL BE HEARD IN THE 
LIGHT; AND THAT WHICH YE HAVE SPOKEN IN 
THE EAR IN CLOSETS, SHALL BE PROCLAIMED UP- 
ON THE HOUSE-TOPS.— Luke xii. 2, 3. 

These words of our Saviour were uttered in 
connexion with a warning, addressed to his disci- 
ples, against the hypocrisy of the Pharisees. In 
their immediate application, they were intended as 
a dissuasive from that conscious purpose of con- 
cealing selfish and corrupt principles under the 
show of respect for the law of God, by which the 
Pharisees were distinguished. They enforce the 



424 A DISCOURSE 

conclusion, that the evil designs and vicious prac- 
tices of the hypocrite, however carefully cloaked 
under the outward garb of virtue and religion, will 
one day be brought to light, and stripped of their 
disguises. But considered in themselves, and 
apart from the more immediate purpose for which 
they were introduced, they may be taken in a more 
extensive sense, and as expressing a general truth, 
well worthy of our consideration. They may be 
regarded as exhibiting the necessary relations of the 
apparent to the real, and of the responsible acts 
and purposes of men to their legitimate results 
under the natural and moral government of God ; 
and so, as containing matter of grave importance 
as applied to the formation of our whole charac- 
ters, and to all our habits and principles of action. 
In this more general view of the import of the 
text, I propose to illustrate and apply it in the 
present discourse. I shall consider it, in other 
words, as warning us to shun not only conscious 
hypocrisy in its grosser forms, but whatever in hu- 
man character and conduct involves a discrepancy 
between what we are and what we would seem to 
be in the eyes of our fellow men and before the 
Searcher of hearts. 

In doing so, it may render the practical import 
of our Saviour's declaration more obvious, if we 
contemplate briefly the general character of man- 
kind in this respect, and the extent and ground of 
the danger to which we are exposed. This is of 
itself a topic of deep interest ; and the evil to be 
considered might seem to connect itself with the 



ON HYPOCRISY. 425 

essential conditions of our existence as free and 
intelligent beings. The power so to reflect upon 
ourselves as consciously to distinguish our thoughts 
and purposes as such, from the mind in which they 
originate, to express and hold them forth to others 
either as ours or as not ours, is not the less myste- 
rious, that we are so familiar with the fact of its 
existence. How much more strange, then, would 
that process of reflection seem to be, by which we 
distinguish our purposes as they are cherished in 
our own minds, from the outward forms by which 
they are naturally exhibited to our fellow men, 
and designedly hold forth such as are not our own, 
or that which represents them other than they are ! 
It implies not only, indeed, that self-reference by 
which we recognize our own distinct and individ- 
ual existence, but a farther reflection, by which we 
distinguish ourselves as we are inwardly for the 
eye of consciousness, from what we are outwardly 
for the observation of others. Thus it is only by 
that faculty of thought which enables us to dis- 
tinguish what exists in thought alone, from that 
which has outward and visible existence, and by 
that power of arbitrary will by which we can in- 
tentionally represent as actual what we have but 
conceived as possible, that we can be guilty of the 
fault against which we are warned by the language 
of the text. Nor is the principle of action by 
which we are prompted to the commission of it, 
less deep and universal. So soon as we begin to 
act our part among our fellow beings, and to be 
conscious of the relations which we hold to them 
54 



426 A DISCOURSE 

as co-workers in the world, we find the opinions 
which they entertain of us and of our purposes are 
intimately connected with our self-interest, and 
affect the accomplishment of our designs. Hence 
no worldly possession is more eagerly sought for 
or more universally coveted, as holding the relation 
of means to ends, than the favorable opinion of the 
community in which we dwell. On this ground, 
therefore, men act not more habitually with a ref- 
erence to their pecuniary interests, than from a 
regard to the impressions which their language and 
conduct will produce upon the minds of others, and 
the reputation which they wish to maintain in view 
of their fellow men. Thus we come to live hab- 
itually in the eye of the world ; to consider not so 
much whether an opinion be true or a purpose 
right in itself, as how it will appear to a certain 
class of men, or to the world at large, and affect 
our character and interest by these outward rela- 
tions. We come to consider as things perfectly 
distinct from each other, what is true inwardly, 
and what appears outwardly ; what we are in our- 
selves in the light of our own consciousness, and 
what must be conceived of us by others in order 
to the accomplishment of our ends and the main- 
tenance of our rank and character in the world. 
While we are and more or less distinctly know 
ourselves to be one thing, we carry before us and 
hold out to others quite another thing, as that by 
which we would be known and judged. How 
much, too, of that which men prize and contend 
for, under the name of character and reputation, 



ON HYPOCRISY. 427 

pertains to this other and counterfeit self, rather 
than to what they really are ! How many, for ex- 
ample, have felt themselves constrained to expose 
their lives in defence of an assumed character for 
honor and courage in the esteem of the world, 
when their consciences told them that, instead of 
being in reality what is thus contended for, they 
were but cowardly knaves, with no character wor- 
thy of being defended ! So general is the habit in 
civilized ^communities, of thus acting with refer- 
ence to what will be thought of us by others, 
either from motives of self-interest, or from an un- 
conscious respect for that universal law which we 
recognize in the moral judgments of our fellow 
men, as well as in our own consciences, that to act 
with entire simplicity, and show forth, with per- 
fect freedom from the restraint and artifice which 
such reference imposes, our inward feelings and 
purposes, and to appear in our language and con- 
duct simply and truly what we are, is ever re- 
garded as betraying extreme inexperience, and an 
utter ignorance of the world. It may justly be 
considered, indeed, as indicating, in respect to the 
individual, one of the two extremes : either that 
he yet knows nothing of himself or the world, and 
so acts unconsciously of the relations in which he 
is placed, or that he knows and has conquered both 
himself and the world. So universally do our nar- 
row understandings and the seductions of self-in- 
terest lead us to disguise ourselves and our real 
thoughts and feelings, and to act in an assumed 
character in the theatre of the world. The evil 



428 A DISCOURSE 

links itself with the primal sin of our fallen na- 
ture, by which we are brought in bondage to the 
world ; and in this sense we may say that we all 
partake of that leaven of the Pharisees, which is 
hypocrisy. As opposed to this character, so insep- 
arable from the worldly mind, conscience and the 
precepts of the Gospel require us to aim at perfect 
unity and simplicity of character ; first, to be truly 
and in our inward feelings and principles w 7 hat we 
ought, and then fearlessly and confidingly to make 
our language and conduct the undisguised expres- 
sion of what w r e are. Thus only can we act 
freely, and possess a true confidence in ourselves, 
when the character which w 7 e sustain really in the 
light of our own consciousness, is the only charac- 
ter w T e have to maintain, and the same w 7 ith that 
w 7 bich w T e would hold up before the world ; when 
we have no secret and hidden purposes which we 
fear to have exposed, no mere outward show of 
character and worth, the falsehood and hollowness 
of which we dread to have discovered. 

To this extent, then, and to our characters as 
viewed under these relations, we may apply the 
declaration of the text as a ground of action ; as 
a motive to guard ourselves from all duplicity and 
falsehood in the relation of what we are inwardly 
to what we would seem to be, and to strive after 
that unity of both in truth and rectitude, w 7 hich 
approves itself in the eye of Him who sees through 
all disguises, and by whom we shall be judged ac- 
cording to our real worth. In illustrating and ap- 
plying the declaration of the text with this view, 



ON HYPOCRISY. 429 

we may consider, in the first place, the necessary 
tendency of all our responsible acts and principles 
of action, however we may disguise them, to man- 
ifest themselves in their consequences, and become 
at length known in their proper results. Under 
this head, I propose to refer only to what may with 
propriety be termed the natural consequences of 
our moral habits and principles, considered as re- 
vealing outwardly, in the world of experience, the 
inward source from which they spring. And here 
the general principle taught by the language of our 
Saviour, and confirmed by observation, is the same 
which we find to be true in regard to the powers 
and agencies of the natural world. Every tree is 
known by its own fruit. As in nature, every 
power and every principle of living action has its 
distinctive character and produces its appropriate 
fruits, so in the moral world there is the same un- 
varying relation between our principles of action 
and the consequences which flow from them. It 
is not meant, however, it should be observed, to 
speak here of the moral and spiritual influences 
which act upon our minds to form right principles, 
and to renew the will, but of the relation of our 
principles and purposes, whatever they are, to the 
outward product of their agency, by which their 
existence and character are known in our experi- 
ence. Nor is it intended to assert that in the 
world of sense, and within the ordinary limits of 
human observation and experience, we can always 
determine with certainty, every principle and pur- 
pose of a man, from his outward actions and their 



430 A DISCOURSE 

i 

consequences. Yet, in respect to such as have be- 
come actual and are in progress toward the attain- 
ment of their end, the limitation arises rather from 
our want of observation and skill, than from the 
absence of indications by w T hich they might be 
known. As the most obscure and hidden powers 
of nature cannot act without producing distinguish- 
able results according to fixed and invariable 
laws, so the human will can act outwardly, and 
put forth a power for the attainment of any end, 
only by an agency combined with that of nature, 
and in conformity with its laws. It cannot 
attain ends without means ; and in the w 7 orld 
of sense, either that in which the powers 
of nature manifest themselves to our outward 
senses, or that which reveals to us the agencies of 
our ow r n nature, all its means are comprised. By 
these it must work, if it would make its purposes 
effectual ; and thus expose its every act in a 
sphere in which it can no longer control the results 
that spring out of it. Thus, although an evil pur- 
pose, or any given state of mind, may perhaps ex- 
ist for the agent himself with no outward effect 
by which it could be known to others, the slight- 
est movement in the adaptation of means to a pro- 
posed end, though but the excitement of our own 
natural affections, betrays it to the tell-tale world, 
and no power or craft of ours can ever recall it. 
That sphere of nature in which we find ourselves, 
in which we can freely put forth the energies of 
our free will, and which is in some sense subjected 
to our control as the instrument of a higher 



ON HYPOCRISY. 431 

power, is itself intensely filled with living ener- 
gies, in which every impulse is propagated and 
manifests itself in thousand-fold variety of form. 
In the relation which, as free and responsible be- 
ings, we hold to the goings on of nature, we may, 
indeed, impart a new impulse, and begin a new 
series of changes within its sphere, designed for 
the attainment of our self-proposed ends ; but 
when the impulse has once been given, we can 
neither assign its limits, nor with knowledge less 
than infinite, determine the modes in which its 
character- and effects will be made manifest. 
This it is, in part at least, which makes it so fear- 
ful a thing to act as responsible beings, and to put 
forth the energy of a free will for any other than a 
wise and hallowed end. Here, too, we find one of 
the causes why the mind of the yet concealed 
criminal is never fully at ease in regard to the 
secrecy of his crime. He finds, too late, that he 
cannot hedge up the consequences of what he has 
done. It shows its effects in a thousand ways 
which he had not foreseen. It produces a tumult 
in his own passions, which he had not anticipated, 
and cannot control ; and, in defiance of his efforts, 
reveals itself in the tones of his voice, in the expres- 
sion of his eye, and in his whole demeanor. These, 
too, are among its natural consequences, by which 
it proclaims itself to the world, and that which 
was hidden, is brought to light. How often has 
the general and perhaps too abstract principle 
here stated, been exemplified, not only in the his- 
tory of atrocious crime, but of those more common 



432 A DISCOURSE 

vices, which, for the sake of their reputation in 
the world, men practise in secret, and would have 
no eye see, or thought conceive ! Wholly ignorant 
and unconscious of the outward and sensible effects 
which have resulted from their vicious indulgence, 
they go on, perhaps, believing their secret to be 
hidden from every human eye, and that it has not 
yet been spoken even to the ear in closets, when 
the practised eye has long since marked its infalli- 
ble signature, and when it is already proclaimed 
upon the house-tops. How often do men, in utter 
ignorance that they are doing so, detail to their 
physician, for example, the unquestionable proofs 
of secret vice, which is undermining their consti- 
tution, and betraying itself in its effects upon their 
health, their social habits, and in a thousand other 
forms, of which they are wholly unconscious ! 
Thus in all our agencies, as connected with the 
laws and the phenomena of nature, we have to do 
with a world that keeps no secrets, and w 7 here our 
very efforts to conceal what we have done, are 
necessarily among the means of proclaiming it. 
Every act and every purpose to which we give 
effect, is scored upon the tablet of our history, and 
no art can efface it. Its character and influence 
become inwoven in the web of our destiny, and no 
human power or skill can remove them. Every 
fault committed, and every duty neglected, records 
itself in its effects upon the character and condition 
of the man ; and though neither himself nor his 
fellow man may now be able to read the record, it 
is yet there, and as enduring as his own existence. 



ON HYPOCRISY. 433 

. Thus far I have spoken of the relation of our 
principles and purposes to the world of sense, as 
revealing them to others as well as to our own 
observation, wherever there is experience, and skill 
to mark their effects. But in the second place it 
may be observed, as coming within the general 
scope of the subject, that even w 7 here evil designs 
and secret practices chance not to betray the guil- 
ty, or are not known to do so, and involve him in 
the outward consequences of guilt, they yet stand 
revealed in the light of his own conscience, and 
have the sentence of the law proclaimed against 
them. The outward world of sense is not the 
only world in and for which man exists, nor that in 
which he most truly has his being. Nor is the 
light of the sun, and that which renders outward 
and material forms visible to the bodily eye, the 
only light in which our deeds reveal themselves. 
We only deceive ourselves, when, in the belief that 
our sinful purposes and deeds are cloaked and con- 
cealed from the eye of sense and kept in the se- 
cret chambers of our own souls, we suppose that 
there is therefore no light thrown upon them, and 
that they are shrouded in utter darkness. That 
inner world of consciousness has also its light, 
which, to the guilty soul, sometimes becomes more 
intense in its power of revealing what was before 
hidden from his sight, than the effulgence of a 
thousand suns. It can bring out from the obscuri- 
ty of the past, from the hidden depths of long- 
forgotten crime, and expose and compel him to 
see and remember, what he would give worlds to 
55 



434 A DISCOURSE 

forget. How many, in this conscious exposure of 
their guilt by the power of inward truth, and under 
the withering and blighting influence of its soul- 
searching light, have felt their outward exposure 
to the world as nothing in the comparison, and 
have freely confessed their crimes ! And though 
we may, for a longer or shorter period, avoid reflec- 
tion, and so the distinct consciousness of the evil 
of our doings, yet from the very necessity of the 
case it will at length find us out. Just so far as 
we thus deal falsely with ourselves and play the 
hypocrite with our own consciences as well as with 
the world, we are nourishing a viper to sting our 
souls ; we are, in the strong language of revelation, 
treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath. 
There have been many arts of memory devised ; 
but there is, and can be, especially here, in regard 
to the records of conscience, and as against the re- 
vealing power of its inward light, no art of forget- 
ting. We must stand forth as we are in our true 
character, w 7 ith all our deeds and all our purposes 
emblazoned and on imperishable tablets. And who 
is there so pure, and with a conscience so void of 
offence, as not sometimes to be painfully reminded 
of this inward power, and made to dread what it 
may yet have in reserve for him ? When we blush 
at the apparently casual remembrance of a long- 
forgotten impropriety of conduct, even if we do 
not writhe in the awakened consciousness of past 
guilt, we have a proof that the whole articulated 
series of our past history may again come before 
us with all its guilt and shame. It bears testi- 



ON HYPOCRISY. 435 

mony, that for us there is no guarantee of inward 
peace, so long as our souls are defiled with sin ; 
and that however hidden from the view of the 
world and from our own present consciousness, 
it will one day be proclaimed in our ears, and re- 
veal itself in all its turpitude, more clearly than 
by the light of the sun. 

But this leads me to remark, in the third place, 
that the declaration of our Saviour in the text may 
be considered also as having reference to the reve- 
lation of the great and final day. Then w r e are 
taught that the secrets of all hearts shall be re- 
vealed, and every one shall be judged according to 
his deeds. Though we live now concealed from 
the eye of the world, and to a great extent in a 
state of self-ignorance and self-oblivion, yet in that 
day of the Lord's coming he will both bring to 
light the hidden things of darkness, and will make 
manifest the counsels of the hearts. Though we 
should not take in their literal sense the bold and 
sublime representations that are given in the vol- 
ume of revelation respecting the transactions of 
that day, every man's conscience bears testimony 
that the grand point which it sets forth for our 
apprehension and belief is a most solemn reality. 
All the stores of visible magnificence and of terror 
for the guilty are here exhausted, in expressing to 
our minds a great moral and spiritual truth. To 
the mind fully awakened to a consciousness of 
spiritual realities as known in our inward spiritual 
enjoyments or sufferings, they may appear, per- 
haps, as figurative representations, yet of a truth 



436 A DISCOURSE 

not the less real. And how indeed could spiritual 
truths of that kind be expressed to the understand- 
ings of a sensual world otherwise, than under the 
forms and by the images of sense ? How could 
remorse of conscience be more forcibly or truly 
expressed, than by that agony which properly 
designates the writhing and wrestling of the body ? 
Thus the whole picture which is given us of that 
day, of the Judge coming in the clouds, surrounded 
by his retinue of angels and seated upon the 
throne of judgment, of the archangel and the trump 
of God, of the rising and assembling of the count- 
less nations of the dead, of the opening of that 
book of remembrance in which every idle word 
and every secret thought has been recorded, and 
of the passing of a final sentence according to 
what is then revealed, by which the everlasting 
doom of each is decided ; all this finds, I say, a 
solemn echo in the conscience of every man, which 
assures him that the substance, the meaning of 
w T hat is thus represented, is true, at least for him, 
and that he must abide the coming of that day. 
What a fearful sense of reality, moreover, is given 
to these representations by the facts in our expe- 
rience before referred to, in which we find the 
long-forgotten past again, and with startling vivid- 
ness, called up to our remembrance ! The com- 
mon observation, too, that in extreme old age the 
scenes and occurrences of youth, which had been 
buried in oblivion during the whole period of ac- 
tive life, are recalled almost in their original bright- 
ness, as well as similar facts connected with certain 



ON HYPOCRISY. 437 

affections of the nervous system, might lead us, 
aside from revelation, to believe that nothing which 
has ever been within the sphere of our conscious- 
ness, much less any responsible act or any plague 
spot of sin and guilt, can ever be so obliterated as 
not to be capable of reproduction with all its at- 
tendant train of sorrow and remorse. Here, then, 
in the facts of our own experience, in the convic- 
tions of our own consciences, and in the solemn 
declarations of the word of God, we have the as- 
surance that there is nothing covered that shall 
not be revealed, neither hid that shall not be known 
and come abroad. We have the assurance that 
God cannot be mocked, and that we cannot al- 
ways deceive either ourselves or the world ; that 
our characters, be they what they may, will at 
length appear in their true light, and all discrep- 
ancy between the inward truth and reality and 
the outward appearance will be taken away. Let 
us beware, then, in all its forms, of that leaven of 
the Pharisees, w r hich is hypocrisy, and in simplic- 
ity and godly sincerity, not with worldly wisdom, 
but by the grace of God, have our conversation in 
the world. Especially does this subject address 
itself to the young, to those who are not yet hack- 
neyed in the artifices and politic disguises of a 
corrupt and evil world. The farther you go in 
that direction, the farther are you removed from 
the simplicity of the gospel and hardened against 
the power of divine truth ; and it is only by re- 
solving to be in all things what truth and con- 
science command, and then with a free and ingen- 



438 A DISCOURSE. 

uous spirit to show forth in word and deed what 
you are, that you can be truly at peace with con- 
science or with God. 

And let us all, in the consciousness and with 
the humble but free confession of the many secret 
sins which in the great book of remembrance are 
recorded against us, flee to Christ as our only 
Saviour from sin and condemnation. Let us re- 
joice that, in that most glorious work of divine 
wisdom and mercy which the Son of God has 
accomplished, provision is made for our deliver- 
ance, so that by the efficacy of his blood, both the 
power and pollution of sin may be removed from 
us. Would that we might all flee to this as our 
refuge, lest at the coming of that day when our 
sins shall be arrayed against us, and we shall be 
compelled to stand forth exposed in that light of 
eternity which reveals all our hidden corruption, 
we call upon the mountains and rocks to fall on us 
and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on 
the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb. 



THREE DISCOURSES 



ON THE NATURE, GROUND AND ORIGIN 

OF SIN. 



DISCOURSE I. 



IF WE SAY THAT WE HAVE NO SIN, WE DECEIVE OUR- 
SELVES, AND THE TRUTH IS NOT IN US.— 1 John i. 8. 

This declaration of the inspired Apostle has ob- 
viously a primary reference to those whom he re- 
cognizes as his fellow disciples. He is addressing 
them affectionately as his children, and holding 
forth to them the grand truths and messages of 
revelation, that they may more fully participate 
with him in the divine light and life which they 
impart. But though enlightened by the knowl- 
edge of God, and walking in the light which shines 
from heaven, he yet does not represent them as in 
themselves perfect, or wholly freed from the con- 
tamination of evil. In saying that the blood of 
Christ cleanseth us from all sin, he cannot be un- 



440 ON THE NATURE, 

derstood, consistently with his other declarations, 
as meaning that our hearts are made so pure and 
holy as no longer to need the exercise of pardon- 
ing grace. For he immediately adds, with refer- 
ence to the same persons, in the language of the 
text, If we say that we have no sin, we deceive 
ourselves, and the truth is not in us. It is not 
those, indeed, who partake most largely of the re- 
demption that is in Christ, and are most illumi- 
nated by the truth of God as revealed in their own 
consciousness, who are liable to think of them- 
selves as without sin. Though they may be, as 
compared with those who know nothing of them- 
selves, eminently good men, and gaining daily con- 
quests over their yet^ unsubdued and evil propen- 
sities, yet such at the same time is the increasing 
brightness of that divine light which shines within 
them, and their deeper sense of the extent and 
strictness of that law which reaches to the thoughts 
and intents of the heart, that they become more 
self-abased as they become more holy. It is only 
because men reflect so little upon what they ought 
to be, and contemplate so little that absolute truth 
and righteousness, that unapproachable purity and 
holiness, which ought to be ever before our minds, 
that any can find reason for self-gratulation in a 
consciousness of what they are. I have heard of 
thee, says the ancient patriarch, by the hearing of 
the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee ; wherefore 
I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes. 
Such has been the experience of the most emi- 
nently godlike and holy men in every age. The 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 441 

light 6f divine truth, practically revealed in the 
consciences of men, dissipates all self-flattering 
delusions, by exposing in their true character the 
motives and principles which govern them. To 
conceive ourselves free from sin, therefore, only 
shows that we are ignorant of our own hearts, and 
estranged from the knowledge of God. It is of 
itself a proof, according to the strong and decisive 
expression of the Apostle, that we deceive our- 
selves, and that the truth is not in us. If, then, 
such be the fact in regard to those whom the Apos- 
tle addresses as his children and his fellow disci- 
ples, we may safely extend his declaration to those 
who are less enlightened, and so apply it to the 
whole family of man. It is true of all men, that 
in proportion as they have a practical knowledge 
of their own hearts, as manifested by the light of 
truth, and tried by the law of righteousness, they 
are constrained to humble themselves in the sight 
of God. Before human tribunals, indeed, in com- 
paring ourselves among ourselves, and in reference 
to the conventional rights and duties of civil soci- 
ety, we may stand upon our integrity, and lay 
claim, perhaps, to virtuous and upright intentions. 
But when we consider what is demanded by that 
law which is holy and spiritual, and place our- 
selves before Him who searcheth the heart, we 
can only say, God be merciful to us sinners. We 
may discourse, loo, of the exalted rank and dig- 
nity allotted us among the creatures of this lower 
world, and with good reason render thanks to God 
for the high destiny to which we were formed in 
56 



442 ON THE NATURE, 

the divine purpose. But when we look into our- 
selves, and inquire what have been our purposes, 
and whether we have designedly and steadfastly 
cooperated for the attainment of our true and pro- 
per ends, we are constrained to confess again, that 
we find evidence only of blind folly and perverse- 
ness. In its proper sense, therefore, as used by 
the Apostle, and pertaining to the character of man 
in its relation to the law and will of God, sin is 
imputed to all men. The text may be considered 
as strongly asserting the same doctrine which is 
contained in the conclusion of the Apostle Paul, 
that all have sinned, and come short of the glory of 
God. Nor is this the mere assertion of a few iso- 
lated passages of scripture, but its truth is neces- 
sarily implied in the whole system and in all the 
peculiar doctrines of Christianity. Such is its re- 
lation to the gospel, and such the grounds of our 
conviction of its truth, that, without regarding the 
diversities of individual character, or any knowl- 
edge we may have of the conduct of particular 
men, we are authorized to address the terms of 
salvation to all men, as partakers of the same bond- 
age to sin, and in need of the same redemption 
from its power. We are authorized to say of all 
who may have the boldness to plead exemption 
from the charge, that they are ignorant of their 
own hearts, are the victims of a miserable self- 
delusion, and estranged from the light of truth. 

Such is the most general view of the relation of 
man, as a moral and accountable being, to the holy 
iaw and character of God. It is, consequently, a 






GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 443 

matter in which we have all the same personal 
concern, and is the ground of our common interest 
in that gospel which is proclaimed alike to all. 
Let us proceed to inquire, then, more particularly, 
and with a deep sense of its practical relation to 
our own souls, what is the true import of the doc- 
trine. The subject is so important in all its bear- 
ings, so fundamental in its relation to the essential 
truths of the gospel, and w 7 ithal so exposed to in- 
jurious misapprehension, that we have at least 
abundant reason to urge the inquiry, and to give to 
it our most serious thoughts. In prosecuting the 
discussion, I shall aim, in the first place, to deter- 
mine the essential character of sin as a fact of 
individual experience, and as known within the 
sphere of every man's consciousness ; in the sec- 
ond place, to point out, as clearly as the nature of 
the case will admit, its ground and origin in re- 
spect to the distinguishable powers of our own 
being, and so the conditions of its universality ; 
and in the third place, notice some of the prac- 
tical conclusions which follow from the views thus 
presented. 

In contemplating the character of sin, then, as 
a fact of experience interpreted by the light of our 
own consciousness, and independent of speculative 
theories, we are compelled to regard it as truly 
and unconditionally evil. It is evil in itself, and 
independently of all relations, in the sense that no 
conceivable circumstances or relations could con- 
vert it into good. It is thus clearly distinguished 
from mere physical evil, as it is termed, and 



444 ON THE NATURE, 

whose character, as such, depends upon outward 
relations. Whatever may be the accompaniments 
or consequences of sin, it is still the occasion of 
self-reproach and remorse as evil. The severest 
and most painful evils of an outward and physical 
nature, we know, may be the means and the ne- 
cessary condition of our highest and best good. 
We may thus have occasion to rejoice in afflictions, 
to give thanks to God for sickness, for bonds and 
imprisonment, and even for death itself. But can 
we ever have occasion, or could we ever dare, to 
render him our thanks that we have been guilty of 
sin? Even when we believe that our sinful in- 
tentions have been overruled, and made instrumen- 
tal for the accomplishment of desirable ends, do 
our intentions, as moral acts, appear any the less 
evil ? Such a belief, whether well grounded or 
not, can never in the least alleviate the sentence 
of condemnation, which conscience passes upon 
the commission of sin. Even if we charge God 
foolishly, and suppose that our transgressions were 
designed by him, in the order of his government, 
for the accomplishment of his purposes, we cannot 
thereby diminish the sense of our guilt and of the 
inherent evil of sin. We cannot, indeed, by any 
speculative notions of what sin, and acts origi- 
nating in a sinful purpose, are, relatively to what is 
beyond the sphere of our consciousnesss, such as 
their outward consequences, or the overruling pur- 
pose of God, change their character, as they are 
in themselves, and in their immediate relation to 
our own consciences. We ourselves know what 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 445 

they are, as opposed to our sense of duty, and con- 
trary to that holy law which is revealed in the 
conscience of every man. Without a reference to 
that law, indeed, we cannot interpret and under- 
stand the essential nature of sin as here represent- 
ed. Whosoever committeth sin, says the apostle 
John, transgresseth also the law ; for sin is the 
transgression of the law. If the law, then, were 
other than it is, the nature of sin would also be 
changed. It is because that law reveals and af- 
firms itself in our consciousness as an ultimate and 
unconditional law of rectitude, as in itself essen- 
tially and absolutely good, that we find the trans- 
gression of it to be always evil. The law to 
which the apostle refers, is no mere arbitrary law, 
nor is it simply a rule of action prescribing the 
appropriate means for the attainment of a given 
end. It is rather the necessary law of the su- 
preme reason itself, unchangeable as the being of 
God. It is inseparable from our idea of God as 
the supreme good, and prescribes for all rational 
beings, not immediately rules of outward conduct, 
but ends, the rightful and ultimate ends, at which 
they are bound to aim. As such, and as revealed 
more or less clearly, according to the heed we give 
to it, in our consciences, it takes cognizance and 
determines the character of our purposes, and of 
the ends which we propose to ourselves. To trans- 
gress the requirements of this law, and to aim at 
ends opposed to those which it prescribes as abso- 
lutely good, is sin ; is that evil and bitter thing 
which the soul of the transgressor recognizes in 



446 ON THE NATURE, 

the oppressive sense of guilt and remorse. To 
misconceive and misrepresent the law of con- 
science, therefore, and to derogate from its char- 
acter and claims, as an ultimate and absolute law 
of duty and right, is to change the character of 
sin. Were it possible, indeed, by the delusive 
misconceptions of philosophy falsely so called, to 
produce a practical conviction that the law of 
conscience is but the product of our own under- 
standings, deduced from the facts of experience, 
and that whether thus or otherwise determined, it 
is but a rule of conduct, prescribed as the means 
to the attainment of an end, it would at the same 
time destroy our practical conviction of sin, and 
this would indeed cease to be for us that evil 
which we now know it to be. Sin, as a trans- 
gression of the law, then, is directly opposed and 
contrary to that which we recognize as in itself 
right and good. When we do that which the law 
of conscience forbids, or neglect and refuse to pur- 
pose and do that which it requires, we place our- 
selves in direct contrariety to that which is good ; 
and no extraneous circumstances or relations can 
change the character of our conduct, or make it 
otherwise than evil. 

What it is for us, observe, it is and can only be, 
as seen in the light of our own consciences, and by 
the law of God. It is here alone that we can 
know it in its true character ; and the more dis- 
tinctly we bring our purposes into that light and to 
the tribunal of that law, the more clearly will they 
be revealed to us as good or evil. If we choose to 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 447 

walk in darkness, and will not come to the light 
lest our deeds should be reproved, that of itself 
proves that we are doers of evil. Let us beware 
then, how we deceive ourselves in regard to the 
nature of sin, and the essential character of that 
root of bitterness which we find within us. Let 
us beware how we seek to alleviate our sense of 
guilt and ill-desert in the commission of it, by 
turning away from the light of truth and the law 
of righteousness, and trying it by our own uncer- 
tain speculations. Let us never forget that it is 
the transgression of a holy law, contrary to the ab- 
solute and supreme good ; an evil which conscience 
condemns and God abhors, and which can stir up 
in our own undying souls, the never-ceasing hor- 
rors of remorse. 

But again, we may remark under this head, as 
an essential character of sin, and known as such by 
the light of every man's consciousness, that it is an 
evil for which ive are directly and solely responsi- 
ble. This is practically and inseparably involved 
in the simple sense of guilt and self-condemnation. 
This feeling in regard to our conduct necessarily 
implies the assumption, that what we condemn was 
truly our own act, and performed under the condi- 
tion of a just responsibility for the deed. It is in- 
compatible with any such sense of guilt, to refer 
our conduct to whatever cause we may conceive, 
out of ourselves, as efficiently producing it. In 
condemning ourselves for it, we impute it to our 
own causative agency, and recognize it as truly 
and properly our own. Conscience tells us not 



448 ON THE NATURE, 

only that we have transgressed the law of right- 
eousness, but that we ought not to have done so, 
and are personally accountable for the evil. We 
cannot escape this conviction, without misrepresent- 
ing and falsifying the unequivocal testimony of our 
own consciousness. Practically, indeed, we can- 
not wholly divest ourselves of the sense of respon- 
sibility for our evil purposes and deeds, by any 
speculative notions which w T e may form in respect 
to the nature of our moral agency. But were 
such an effect possible, it must necessarily be pro- 
duced by every system which refers our moral 
principles and acts to the agency of any cause or 
motive out of ourselves. Whatever divests us of 
our free-agency in the eminent sense of that term, 
according to which our moral purposes and acts 
have their true and proper origin in our own being, 
divests us, at the same time, of all real accounta- 
bility, and makes the sense of guilt contradictory 
and delusive. Sin, in that case, at once, and of 
necessity, ceases to be the evil thing which we 
took it to be in the simplicity of our conscientious 
convictions. It becomes, instead of a positive evil, 
originating in ourselves, and opposed to God, only 
the means to an end ; and of course derives its 
character from the end and purpose which it serves. 
By the same process too, we must cease to be the 
true causes of our actions, or in any proper sense 
responsible for them, since we move but as we are 
moved, and are but the passive instruments of a 
higher and controlling power. Thus the true 
character of sin, as truly and in itself evil, can be 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 449 

interpreted and understood only by the assumption 
of a free and responsible will. The existence of 
this is no less necessary than the law of con- 
science as already referred to, if we would not 
contradict our own consciousness, and put a lie in 
the place of that which our inmost souls affirm to 
be the truth of God. The testimony of our con- 
sciousness, and our inward sense of responsibility 
for every act and purpose which conscience con- 
demns, is, or should be, the ultimate ground of our 
conclusions. No speculative argument, drawn 
from other grounds of reasoning, can supersede the 
immediate convictions of practical truth in our 
moral being. However we may imagine ourselves 
irresponsible, or infer from a course of reasoning, 
however plausible and well-intended, that our 
minds are swayed and our purposes controlled by 
the force of motives acting from without as a 
necessary cause, a fully awakened conscience 
breaks through all such sophistries, and tells the 
guilty soul in terms which it cannot deny, that the 
evil is from within ; that out of his own heart 
originated and came forth the guilty purpose, and 
all that which conscience condemns as sin. No 
matter what may have been the outward motive 
or occasion ; it was still by virtue of the evil heart 
within , that it had the power to become a motive, 
and prompt the thief to his midnight plunder, or 
the murderer to the assassination of his victim. 
But though we cannot so deceive ourselves here 
that conscience will not resume its power and en- 
force the practical conviction of our responsibility, 
57 



450 



yet we may, and it is to be feared too often do, 
weaken the authority of conscience over us, and 
endeavor to quiet our minds in sin, by trusting 
in our own speculations. Those who are resolved 
on following their own chosen way, will ever be 
ready to invent or adopt any theory which may 
seem to shift off the responsibility from themselves, 
and help them to practise a lie to their own con- 
sciences. With such, it is but a hollow device, a 
refuge of lies, which is liable at any moment to be 
swept away, and they are at last taken in their 
own craftiness. But may not the sense of respon- 
sibility and consequent guilt be weakened in 
young and more ingenuous minds, by theories 
which turn away their thoughts from the direct 
testimony of their own consciousness and the ver- 
dict of their own conscience, and teach them to 
determine on some other grounds, the moral char- 
acter of their doings ? Yet, however we may de- 
ceive ourselves, or permit others to deceive us, 
conscience will at length vindicate its claims, and 
we shall find ourselves held responsible for every 
deed done in the body, for every purpose of our 
hearts, and for every idle word. Whatever may 
be the moral character of these, good or evil, they 
derive it from our own responsible agency, and 
must be answered for as our own purpose and 
deed. 

Once more, it must be remarked here, as per- 
taining to the character of sin, and not fully antic- 
ipated in the previous remarks, that as the evil for 
which we are strictly responsible, and to which 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 451 

the verdict of conscience relates, it is neither the 
consequences of our actions, nor properly the out- 
ward acts themselves, but the inward principle and 
purpose from which they spring. Thus it is obvi- 
ously not by experience of the outward effects of 
a course of conduct, that we learn whether it is 
right or wrong in the view of conscience. How- 
ever beneficial the consequences of our conduct 
may seem to be, yet if we meant it for evil, we 
are none the less guilty of sin. Whether beneficial 
or otherwise, moreover, the consequences of our 
actions and our purposes, as they pass into outward 
act, are placed at once beyond our power of con- 
trol ; and except as they were intended by us, are 
no more ours than any other events connected 
with them in the world of sense. They have, in 
themselves, no moral, but only an outward and phy- 
sical character. They may be beneficial or injuri- 
ous ; but apart from the character of the purpose 
in which they originated, are neither right nor 
wrong — the object neither of praise nor blame. 
The same may. be said of the mere outward act, as 
distinguished from its more remote consequences 
on the one hand, and the originating purpose on 
the other. Apart from the purpose of a responsi- 
ble being, it is not a moral act, and can have no 
moral character. It can be imputed only on the 
assumption of a purpose in which it originated, 
and from this alone it derives a moral character. 
Thus the killing of a man becomes murder, only 
on the imputation of a malice prepense. Let me 
add, too, as the plain doctrine of our Saviour, that 



452 ON THE NATURE, 

if we cherish the malicious purpose, and need only 
the outward occasion to carry it into effect, we are 
already guilty of murder in the view of conscience 
and of God. No such distinction can be maintain- 
ed, therefore, though so often attempted, as that 
which would make an act right in itself, but wrong 
relatively to the agent. Considered apart from the 
agent, it is neither right nor wrong. We have no 
concern with it in regard to a supposed moral 
character, except as it is contemplated in a living 
union with our own moral being, and grounded in 
our own purposes and inward principles, as good 
or evil. 

On the other hand, when we look away from the 
outward and circumstantial, and seek the character 
of our deeds in their inward origin, we learn what 
is the true import of moral distinctions. We there 
view our actions in their proper and only moral 
grounds. We there bring into the light of distinct 
consciousness, that which is truly our own and de- 
pendent upon no outward conditions ; our purposes, 
our inclinations, our inward principles of action. 
We need but little reflection upon what we find 
there, to see that, so far from needing the results 
of outward experience in order to determine what 
is right or wrong, the moral question and the 
grounds of its decision are necessarily antecedent 
to all experience of external and actual results. 
We have but to reflect upon an action as possible, 
upon a purpose as merely conceived and deter- 
mined upon, though never yet carried into effect 
by ourselves or others, and while we have yet per- 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 453 

formed no outward act for giving it effect, and its 
moral character is already known. The conse- 
quences, immediate or more remote, may or may 
not prove what 1 anticipate and intend ; the sole 
question for me is, what do I intend, and from what 
motive? It is the coincidence of my intentions 
with that law which prescribes imperatively and 
without appeal what I ought to intend, for which 
I am responsible. As right or wrong, our acts, 
our purposes, our principles, have a character 
equally decided in the moment of their first con- 
ception and adoption in our minds, as when all 
their consequences are known by experience. It 
is obviously, too, our duty to consider and know 
what is the character of our purposes, as they man- 
ifest themselves to us in the secrets of our own 
bosoms, and while yet no human eye has the 
means of knowing what they are. Nor do these 
assertions go at all beyond the decisions of com- 
mon reason and moral feeling, in regard to the 
moral character of man. Every one knows and 
admits, that an individual may be a very bad man 
or a very good one, though from disease or other- 
wise unable to do the smallest act, to utter a word, 
or to move a finger, for carrying into effect the 
thoughts of his heart. He may be full of malice, 
and murder, and blasphemy, and inwardly goaded 
by the reproaches of his conscience, or he may be 
wholly intent upon those purposes which God and 
his own conscience approve. Neither his good 
nor his ill desert, in such cases, would be the less 
from his inability to act and show outwardly what 



454 ON THE NATURE, 

he is. The will is imputed for the deed. Thus it 
is not strictly what a man does, since that may not 
depend upon himself, but what he would do, that 
determines his moral worth. It is not his outward 
acts, but his inward principles of action ; not what 
he is, in so far as that depends on external circum- 
stances and the accidents of birth or fortune, of 
health or sickness, but what he is in himself, that 
constitutes his true character in the sight of God. 
And here we may notice a farther distinction, of 
no small importance in respect to our views of sin, 
between our particular resolves, or our purposes as 
they are relative to the circumstances in which we 
are placed, and the higher principle within us by 
which they are determined. These have, thus far, 
been referred to as belonging alike to the inner 
man. We distinguish both from mere outward 
acts, and ascribe to both a moral character of good 
or evil. It is obvious, indeed, that our immediate 
conscious purposes or resolves, and the higher prin- 
ciple by which they are determined, come equally 
under the cognizance of that law of conscience 
which prescribes the ultimate ends at which we 
ought to aim. Yet our immediate and daily pur- 
poses may be said to have a more superficial and 
contingent character. Though not produced by 
the outward circumstances in which we act, as 
their proper cause, they have a necessary relation 
to these, and must vary with them. They have 
their true origin from some higher principle in our 
own minds, which practically determines the end 
and constitutes the inward and proper motive or 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 455 

moving cause of our actions* As to their essential 
moral character, they would be the same in what- 
ever change of condition and consequent variation 
of outward form, so long as they spring from the 
same principle and aim at the same end. They 
are the varying devices and inventions of the un- 
derstanding, as applied to the outward sphere in 
which we are placed, and striving to realize a pre- 
scribed end by appropriate means. Thus, the man 
who is actuated by a principle of ambition, and is 
devoted to the attainment of political distinction, 
will shape his more immediate and conscious pur- 
poses in subordination to that principle, and with 
a reference to its proper end. Yet, according to 
outward circumstances and the judgments of his 
understanding as applied to these, he might prac- 
tice the arts of the demagogue as a candidate for 
popular favor ; might become a crouching syco- 
phant at the footstool of power ; or in reliance 
upon superior physical force, boldly usurp the reins 
of sovereignty. While the immediate purposes 
and corresponding outward acts, here, would vary 
according to outward relations, their essential char- 
acter would remain the same. It is determined as 
good or evil, not by what is conditional and acci- 
dental, but by the relation of the higher principle 
inherent in all the acts and purpose of the ambi- 
tious man, as such, to the law of conscience. 

With these distinctions in view, then, it is obvi- 
ous that we can neither refer to outward occasions 
and circumstances, as determining at all the moral 
character of our actions, nor limit our responsibil- 



456 ON THE NATURE, 

ity and the application of moral distinctions to 
those immediate and more conscious purposes, 
which are necessarily relative to the outward and 
circumstantial. We are responsible also for the 
higher principle, as working in us, and shaping our 
ends for good or evil, in conformity or in opposi- 
tion to the law of righteousness. The votary of 
a lawless ambition is responsible not merely for 
the particular wrong which he purposes and com- 
mits, as incidental to the end aimed at, but for the 
wrong principle itself. This necessarily follows 
from the positions which have been already as- 
serted, upon the ground of our moral conscious- 
ness. Whatever principle of action manifests 
itself within us as directing and controlling our 
purposes, in opposition to that law which pre- 
scribes the ultimate and absolute ends at which 
we ought to aim, we recognize as wrong, and im- 
pute to ourselves as sin for which we are responsi- 
ble. Nor can we feel our responsibility or our 
guilt the less, that we find such wrong principles 
of action deeply seated in our minds, and exposing 
us to deceive ourselves in respect to our character 
as sinners. The fact that our own evil principles 
have acquired an entire control over us, and have 
blinded our minds to all right views of what we 
ought to be, cannot be plead in extenuation of our 
guilt. Experience, indeed, shows that the deeper 
and more radical the principle of action which 
gives its character to our purposes may be, the 
more we are absorbed in devising means and in 
executing subordinate purposes for accomplishing 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 457 

the end which it prescribes, the less conscious 
we become of its presence and its power. Look, 
for example, at the man of business, with his 
whole mind occupied and all his thoughts en- 
grossed, or as we say with propriety, absorbed in 
the accumulation of wealth. His ordinary con- 
sciousness extends only to the immediate pur- 
poses and occupations of the day. Of the deeper 
principle which characterizes these, and of the 
ulterior end to which they are directed by its in- 
fluence, as something distinctive, and as having a 
moral character of good or evil, he is, perhaps, for 
the time, wholly unconscious. Yet, at the same 
time, it will be obvious to the enlightened and 
comprehensive observer, that the whole character 
of the man is distinctly marked by the pervading 
and controlling influence of the principle in ques- 
tion. To his view, it will betray itself by innu- 
merable and infallible tokens, while the subject 
himself is unaware that he has given any indica- 
tion of his character, or of the principle by which 
he is governed. He unconsciously assumes that 
all men are actuated by the same principle and 
pursue the same end with himself. His conscious 
being, his thoughts, his purposes, his interests, are 
so limited and encompassed within the sphere 
which it prescribes, and so determined by the 
character which it imposes, that he can no longer 
place himself without the compass of its influence 
and contemplate it as it is, in the pure light of 
truth. On the contrary, he sees all other things 
through the colored medium which, as an artificial 
58 



458 ON THE NATURE, 

atmosphere, it throws around him. To his view, 
the objects of nature in all their beauty and glory, 
the powers of intelligence, as unfolded and en- 
riched by education and science and art, and 
even the higher excellencies of moral worth, have 
no character and no interest, but in relation to the 
purposes of gain. He sees in them only the more 
or less appropriate and efficient means and instru- 
ments for accomplishing the ends which the essen- 
tial principle of his own character prescribes. He 
can discover in the occupations and pursuits of 
other men only well or ill chosen means to the 
same end which he is pursuing, and is wholly 
blind, not only to the desirableness, but to the pos- 
sibility of proposing any other. Shall we say, 
then, that such an one is excusable for his blind- 
ness and insensibility? Is it not rather sufficient 
to say, as a plain and obvious truth, that he ought 
not to be thus blind and insensible, thus uncon- 
scious of the law and obligations of duty, and 
heedless of his higher destiny as a rational and 
moral being ? Will not his own conscience re- 
proach him, whenever he is awakened to a sense 
of its admonitions, for the domestic and social du- 
ties which he has been led to neglect, as well as 
for the wrongs which he has committed, in his 
blind obedience to a principle and his eager pur- 
suit of an end which, in the supremacy thus ac- 
quired by them, are not in accordance with the 
law of righteousness ? 

But if we are responsible for such a principle, 
even when ordinarily unconscious of its character, 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 459 

and condemn ourselves for our blind ambition or 
devotion to wealth, as well as for the more imme- 
diate and distinctly conscious purposes which have 
their origin in these, will the case be altered in re- 
gard to our responsibility, if we find these princi- 
ples embraced as but accidental modifications in 
one still deeper and more universal ? It is obvi- 
ous that different men, actuated by the same prin- 
ciple of ambition, will, according to their outward 
circumstances, employ different means and form 
different subordinate purposes. To these alone, as 
diverse from each other, their ordinary conscious- 
ness is limited. Yet if we suppose them to reflect 
and bring into the distinct view of their minds the 
controlling principle which alike governs them, 
they will find it the same and having the same re- 
lation to the common law of conscience in all. 
Should more earnest reflection and the clearer 
light of divine truth, then, convince us that such 
principles of action as ordinarily distinguish men 
from each other, ambition, devotion to wealth, the 
love of pleasure, and all those which diversify the 
surface of human society, are but the compara- 
tively outward forms and phases of one and the 
same principle, present in each of them and im- 
parting its character to all, w r e may still find, in re- 
gard to that, also, the same sense of responsibility, 
and recognize its relation to the law of conscience 
as good or evil. Though, by the supposition, not 
within the sphere of our common consciousness, 
like the immediate and particular purposes of to- 
day, and farther removed from it even than the 



460 ON THE NATURE, 

several principles by which different men and 
classes of men are distinguished from each other, 
yet, when awakened to a deeper knowledge of 
ourselves, and made conscious of its presence, 
either immediately or in its effects, we may be con- 
strained to feel, not only that we are responsible 
for its character, but are justly chargeable with it 
as evil, in the view of conscience and of God. 
And this is what I understand by sin as a princi- 
ple of action, and what the universal experience 
of men, whenever they have reflected enough to 
understand distinctly the principles which actuate 
them, proves to be the truth in respect to the char- 
acter of man. The import of it is, that there is 
an ultimate principle of action common to all men, 
and therefore deeper than those by which they are 
distinguished from each other. It teaches that 
this principle, common to all, imparts its character 
to the more specific and more immediately con- 
scious principles and purposes of each, by deter- 
mining in every individual the ultimate end at 
which he aims, as including and modifying all sub- 
ordinate and limited ends. It imports, moreover, 
that the principle thus universal in respect to the 
race, and thus comprehensive in respect to the 
agencies of the individual, when brought into dis- 
tinct consciousness by the clear light of truth, and 
tried by the law of righteousness, is found to be a 
wrong principle, and imputed to himself, by every 
man, as one for which he feels and knows himself 
responsible. 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 461 

In view of these distinctions and illustrations, 
then, we cannot bat recognize the importance and 
the practical nature of the position which they are 
intended to explain ; that it is not the consequen- 
ces of our acts, nor strictly our outward acts, as 
such, but the inward purpose and the still deeper 
principles of action in which that purpose origi- 
nates, that we distinguish as morally right or 
wrong. It turns away our attention from the out- 
ward and accidental, in our relations and in our 
conduct, to the abiding fountains of good or evil in 
our own minds. It points us to a knowledge of 
ourselves, of the secret workings of our hearts, and 
of the ultimate ends for which we are striving, as 
alone enabling us to determine what is our char- 
acter in the light of truth. But especially does 
it bring to notice the fact, so important in its prac- 
tical applications, that our sense of sin, of that in- 
ward moral evil for which we find ourselves re- 
sponsible, is not limited to our immediate and 
distinctly conscious purposes, but extends to the 
secret and yet unconscious principle from which 
they spring. According to the view presented, it 
is not necessary that we should have reflected and 
made ourselves fully conscious of the principles from 
which our actions flow, in their relation to the law 
of righteousness, in order to their being justly im- 
puted to us as evil. Those principles, obviously, do 
not become evil by being known merely, but ivere 
evil before they were known, and while we yet act- 
ed in blind subjection to their power. When 
awakened to a serious examination of our charac- 



462 ON THE NATURE, 

ter and conduct, and when, by opening our minds 
to the light of divine truth, we become more deep- 
ly conscious of the inward sources in which our 
daily purposes have their origin, we find principles 
of action of which we were not before conscious, 
but which our own consciences bear witness, ought 
not to be there, and condemn as evil. It is enough 
that we find them there as principles of action in 
our personal being, and opposed to the law reveal- 
ed in our consciences. We necessarily impute 
them to ourselves, as our own principles, and their 
contrariety to truth and righteousness as our own 
sin. No matter how blind we may hitherto have 
been to the true character of the inward principles 
which determine our purposes and ends ; so soon 
as they are brought into the light and distinctly 
seen to prescribe other ends than those which God 
has ordained, we recognize them as evil, and our- 
selves as guilty in his sight. A principle of law- 
less ambition is not the less blameworthy, that we 
are so wholly subjected to its influence and absorb- 
ed in the pursuit, of ambitious ends, as to be un- 
conscious of the claims of duty, and heedless of 
the wrongs which we commit. A corrupt and 
engrossing selfishness, under whatever decent exte- 
rior, is still evil and unholy, though we may remain 
ignorant of its all pervading and all-comprehend- 
ing power in our hearts. We cannot shun respon- 
sibility by abiding in darkness. We cannot escape 
the consequences of the evil principles which lurk 
within us, by remaining in ignorance of what they 
are. It is enough for us, that we ought not to be 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 463 

ignorant of ourselves, but to walk in the clear light 
of our own consciousness and to keep consciences 
void of offence. It is the very purpose and effect 
of divine truth, and of the holy law of God, to make 
known to us our true character, to bring to light the 
hidden things of darkness, and to make manifest 
the counsels of the heart. What these determine 
concerning us when faithfully applied to the in- 
ward principles in which our actions originate, 
that we are in very truth. The evil which they 
bring to light is the sin about which Ave are dis- 
coursing, and for which we must answer at the 
bar of God. If, by their verdict, as revealed within 
us and testified by our own consciences, we are 
convicted of transgression and sin, not only for our 
avowed purposes, but for every inward principle 
that is found at variance with the true law and 
purpose of our being, we must abide by their 
decision, whatever speculative objections we may 
find against it. 

What is meant here and explained by the pre- 
vious illustrations is the simple fact, that we do 
find such principles within us, and that when 
found, though we may never have been conscious 
of them before, we do condemn ourselves on that 
account as sinners. The existence of such prin- 
ciples of action in our minds, or rather of a uni- 
versal principle common to all men, and found in 
all to be contrary to the law of conscience, is 
what is asserted by the doctrine of original sin. 
It is the principle in which, as the ultimate ground 
in us, in distinction from more superficial princi- 



464 ON THE NATURE, 

pies or purposes, our actions truly originate. It is 
that, too, in which they have their origin, as dis- 
tinguished from all causes out of ourselves, and by 
virtue of which we are really and truly the authors 
of our own acts in respect to their moral character 
and the ends to which they are determined. We 
find evil originating in our own hearts, or we orig- 
inate that which is evil. In acting out of an orig- 
inant principle thus prescribing an end diverse from 
that which the divine law prescribes, we transgress 
the law, and impute it to ourselves as sin. It 
is in this sense that we should understand the 
import of the term, when sin is charged upon all 
men, or the whole race of man represented as guilty 
in the sight of God. It is not that all have com- 
mitted distinct and conscious crimes, or overt acts 
of known and wilful transgression ; but that all, 
when awakened to a true sense of their own char- 
acters, as tried by the law of holiness, will find a 
principle of action not in harmony with it. It is 
in respect to this deep and radical principle of 
action that we are most liable to deceive ourselves, 
and most need the light of divine truth to reveal 
to us the secrets of our hearts. If any deny the 
existence of such a principle, as by nature work- 
ing in them and determining the ends at which 
they aim, we may say, in the language of the 
Apostle, they deceive themselves, and the truth 
is not in them. 

I have thus endeavored, as was proposed in the 
first general division of the subject, to determine 
what is the essential character of sin as a fact of 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 465 

individual experience, and capable of being known 
within the sphere of our personal consciousness. 
I have aimed simply to set forth and illustrate that 
which every man, who will earnestly look into 
himself and examine the deeper principles of his 
conduct, may verify by its proper evidence. Nor 
is it possible to determine on any other grounds of 
knowledge, either what is the true import of the 
language of revelation in regard to moral distinc- 
tions, or what is our character as responsible be- 
ings and as transgressors of a moral law. Such, 
then, on the only evidence which the nature of the 
case admits, is the essential character of sin, and 
our individual character as sinners. These are, as 
it were, the facts of the case, to which all our 
speculative views must conform. We cannot find 
relief from the sense of guilt in a speculative no- 
tion that it is an evil only in appearance, but really 
and in itself the necessary means to a good end, 
and therefore good. The witness within tells us 
it is an evil and bitter thing, the adversary and 
opposite of all good. We cannot cast off our per- 
sonal responsibility, and the attendant sense of 
remorse in the commission of sin, by the delusive 
doctrine that we are but the passive instruments 
for working out the designs of an overruling pow- 
er. Conscience charges the evil upon us as its 
authors, and we know that we must abide its de- 
cision. Nor can w T e find a refuge for our pride, or 
alleviate the humiliating and upbraiding sense of 
our character and condition as sinners, by regard- 
ing the sin with which we are chargeable, as aa 
59 



466 ON THE NATURE, 

outward and merely incidental affection. We can 
neither attach the imputation to our acts consid- 
ered in their outward relations and consequences, 
nor limit it to that which is merely relative and 
accidental or variable in our conscious intentions 
and purposes. We are constrained to take it home 
to ourselves with all its guilt and shame, and with 
all its forms and degrees of culpability, as grounded 
in the inmost principles of action which pertain to 
our personal being. We are necessitated, by the 
testimony of our own experience and the verdict 
of our own consciences, to confess that sin, as we 
find it in ourselves, is no superficial evil, to be 
subdued and eradicated by a few slight efforts and 
good resolutions, which we have always the power 
to employ, but grounded in a principle which, by 
its influence, is present in and modifies all our 
responsible agencies, with reference to the ulti- 
mate end to which they are determined. We 
recognize it as a deep and radical evil, affecting 
our essential characters as accountable beings, and 
constituting us sinners in the sight of God. 

If such, then, be the truth on this great subject, 
it cannot be denied that it is truth of a practical 
character, and deeply concerns us all. Have we 
faithfully examined our hearts and tried our inward 
principles of action by the light of truth, to see 
whether, in relation to ourselves, these things are 
so ? Have we resolved in all earnestness to know 
the truth concerning ourselves ; or have we chosen 
to walk in the dim twilight of uncertainty, co 
leave the most important of all questions undeter- 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 467 

mined, lest we might be constrained to forego our 
purposes and renounce the principles on which we 
act ? Let us not deceive ourselves with the notion 
that our own ignorance will excuse us in this mat- 
ter. If we know not that we are sinners, or have 
but an obscure and doubtful sense of our guilt, it 
is because we have not liked to retain God in our 
knowledge. It is because we have chosen dark- 
ness rather than light, and have wilfully closed our 
ears to the whispered admonitions of conscience. 
The fact that we thus deceive ourselves, and that 
the truth is not in us, makes not our course less 
contrary to the law of righteousness, but prevents 
our fleeing for deliverance to Him who alone can 
save us from the pow r er of sin. Though we have 
not aggravated our guilt and braved the terrors of 
the Most High by distinctly and consciously re- 
solving that w 7 e will not obey his law, and that the 
purposes of our own evil will shall be our portion, 
yet our consciences convict us of sin so long as we 
neglect to choose Him for our portion, and to yield 
all our powers to His service. Let us then go to 
Him with confession of our sins, and implore the 
aids of His grace, that we may henceforth w T alk in 
the light, as He is in the light. With that sense of 
our unworthiness and ill-desert which cannot be 
separated from the indwelling of the word and 
truth of God in our minds, let us look to the Lord 
Jesus Christ and his righteousness, as that alone 
by which we can be saved from the pollution of 
sin and from its condemning power. For God so 



463 ON THE NATURE, 

loved the world that he gave his only begotten 
Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not 
perish, but have everlasting life. 



DISCOURSE II 



With these views of the nature of sin, as we 
find it in our experience, we may proceed to con- 
sider the second general division of the subject. 
In this it was proposed to point out, as clearly as 
the inherent difficulty of the case will permit us 
to do, the ground and origin of sin in respect to 
the distinguishable pow r ers of our own being, and 
so, the conditions of its universality. We are here 
obviously concerned with questions of a different 
nature from those which have occupied us in the 
former part of the discourse. Instead of simply 
exhibiting, as it was there intended to do, the na- 
ture of evil as every one may find it in his imme- 
diate experience and consciousness, we are now to 
determine that concerning it of which we are not 
immediately conscious. The inquiry, therefore, 
becomes more speculative in its character, and be- 
longs, indeed, to that vexed sphere of immemorial 
controversy, which I should not, I confess, except 
under strict imitations, deem entirely appropriate 
to the services of the sanctuary. It is only in the 
hope of arriving at practical results, and of remov- 
ing difficulties in regard to moral and religious 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 469 

truth which speculative minds are sure to meet, 
and by which the most ingenuous are often stum- 
bled, that I venture to make such an inquiry a part 
of our religious service. Yet observe, it is not the 
origin of evil, on the broad ground of speculation 
upon which that subject is often discussed, with 
which we are concerned, but the origin of sin in 
our own personal being. Whatever moral evil 
may have existed out of our minds and antecedent 
to our existence, that is not now the subject of in- 
quiry ; but what can we determine of its origin in 
ourselves, as that for which we are individually re- 
sponsible, but which is yet common to all ? What 
do the practical principles already established on 
the ground of our common consciousness, necessi- 
tate us to admit in respect to the inquiry now be- 
fore us? For we cannot too carefully bear in 
mind what was stated under a previous head of 
discourse, that no merely speculative conclusions 
can supersede the immediate convictions of prac- 
tical truth in our moral being. In seeking to de- 
termine the origin of sin in those agencies of 
which we are not immediately and distinctly con- 
scious, therefore, we are strictly limited by the 
conditions which our conscious knowledge of the 
essential nature of sin imposes upon us. Nothing 
can be received as true, which contradicts our con- 
sciousness in this matter; and it is strictly, indeed, 
by means of that which we find in our conscious 
experience, as already exhibited, that we can alone 
determine the truth and reality of what is affirmed 
in relation to this part of our subject. 



470 ON THE NATURE, 

Thus our views of the origin of sin in our per- 
sonal being can have no authority and no reality 
for us, except as they are necessarily involved in 
the facts of our consciousness and the testimony of 
our conscience, as awakened and illuminated by 
the power of divine truth. If they are such as to 
involve the inference, that sin is not what we have 
already found it to be, on the highest ground of 
evidence, they must be rejected as false. It is for 
this reason, that I have endeavored first to show 
what sin is in its essential characteristics, as a fact 
of inward experience ; and no speculation in regard 
to its origin must be allowed to change, or at all to 
modify, our sense of its evil nature, the conviction 
of our responsibility for it, or of its deep seated 
malignity, as grounded in our own personal being. 
Under these limitations, and with a view indeed 
to guard these practical convictions from being 
weakened by speculative objections drawn from 
the same source, we may be safe at least, if not in 
attempting to explain the origin of sin, yet in mak- 
ing the distinctions necessary to guard us from 
practical error, and to show the nature of the mys- 
tery which the question involves. 

The view then, which I shall aim to illustrate, 
as in accordance with these conditions, and involv- 
ing what is most important in reference to a right 
understanding of the subject, is, that sin has its 
origin in the will, or in that which is spiritual 
in man, and is a principle of action in this, 
contrary to the law and will of God. This pro- 
position, rightly understood, may be said to contain 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 471 

the whole truth, so far as we are practically con- 
cerned with it ; and at the same time is so clearly 
involved in our conscious experience of the charac- 
ter of sin, (so far as our consciousness extends), 
as to be admitted by all. Yet it is liable to such 
misapprehensions, both from false notions of the 
will, and from superficial views of the nature of 
sin as originating in it, as to render necessary an 
extended illustration of its import. We cannot 
rightfully apprehend it and leave our practical con- 
victions unassailed, without some just views of the 
will, as the distinguishing prerogative of our per- 
sonal being, and of its relation both to the law of 
our inferior nature on the one hand, and to its own 
law of truth and righteousness on the other. 
These are the points in which the subject connects 
itself with the essential truths of the Gospel, as 
well as with the facts of our inward experience ; 
and with the elucidation of these I shall chiefly 
occupy your attention. 

In referring to the will, then, as that in which 
sin has its origin, it is intended to designate, not a 
mere faculty of choice, subordinate to a control- 
ling principle, and directed by the understanding 
and the senses in the selection of means for the 
attainment of ends. It means, rather, that high- 
est and constituent principle of our personal be- 
ing, that power of self-determination, whereby 
we are raised above the creatures of sense, and 
are said to be formed in the image of God. It 
is that power of free agency, by virtue of which 
we are capable of the obligations of law and 



472 ON THE NATURE, 

reason, and which determines, in each man, not 
the mere choice of means for prescribed ends, 
but the ends themselves, and the ultimate ends 
at which he aims. As such, instead of being 
guided and controlled by the understanding, it 
has this and all our other powers as subordinate 
instruments for attaining the ends which it pre- 
scribes. It is that in which most truly centres all 
that essentially characterizes the individual man in 
respect to his moral being, and by virtue of which 
we denominate him a good or a bad man. It is 
that supernatural power, by which we hold affinity 
with the spiritual world, and are capable of being 
made partakers of the divine nature, or, by its per- 
version and consequent reprobation, of falling to 
the opposite extreme of Satanic hostility to God, 
and to all goodness. As a spiritual power, it is 
essential to the very idea of it that it is self-de- 
termined, or have in itself the ultimate principle 
of its moral determinations. Nor does this suffi- 
ciently distinguish it, without adding also, that, as 
a responsible will, it is inseparable from the idea 
of conscience, or the self-conscious recognition of 
a law by which it ought to be governed, as pre- 
scribing its true and rightful end. It is in the 
power of this spiritual prerogative and self-con- 
scious freedom of moral action, that we are raised 
above the blind necessity of mere natural agents, 
and have, as a matter of right and duty, the 
world of sense, with all the powers and faculties 
and creatures of sense, in a sphere below our 
proper being, and subjected to our control. 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 473 

Without the idea of such a power, placing us in 
a sphere of action above the control of that law by 
which all mere natural powers are governed, and 
by virtue of which our principles of action and the 
ends which we pursue are conceived as our own 
and self-originated, these principles and ends can 
be neither right nor wrong, and the requisitions of 
conscience are an absurdity and delusion. This 
supernatural power, in its inseparable and self- 
conscious relation to the light of truth and the law 
of duty, is that which constitutes our essential 
being as personal agents. It is most nearly sy- 
nonymous with what we mean by the pronoun /, 
when we speak of ourselves as individuals, and as 
personally responsible for our actions. It is the 
man himself, in his highest character and distin- 
guishing prerogative. It is the ultimate subject of 
all that is predicable of him as a man, and in the 
consciousness of which he thinks and speaks of his 
material body, with all its marvellous powers, as 
something extraneous to himself and subordinated 
to his control. Thus, in saying that sin has 
its origin in the will, we mean that it originates, 
or has its true beginning, in the man himself, in 
.that indivisible and spiritual or self-determined 
unity of living action, which is most truly and 
properly himself, in distinction from the subject 
appetites and propensities of his nature, and from 
the functions of the understanding and the faculty 
of choice, considered as merely adaptive and in- 
strumental agencies, by which he w 7 orks towards 
the attainment of his end. It is, in this view of 
60 



474 ON THE NATURE, 

it, therefore, a spiritual evil, not strictly chargeable 
upon our natural poivers and affections as such, 
but to be imputed to the personal will, as its ulti- 
mate ground and only proper cause. This distinc- 
tion is a fundamental one, and cannot be too much 
reflected upon, if we would understand the grounds 
and just limits of our responsibility, and refer to 
their proper source those higher principles of ac- 
tion by which our essential character is determined. 
Nor is the distinction a novel or unusual one. It 
is contained in all languages, and constantly im- 
plied in the ordinary intercourse of men. We 
practically assume it in all our moral judgments, 
and never indeed impute either moral good or evil, 
except where we conceive the agency of a will or 
self-controlling power, as distinguished from mere 
natural causes. No one holds the brute morally 
responsible, or charges it with sin and guilt, how- 
ever noxious and hateful its nature may be to us, 
simply because we ascribe to it no power above 
its nature. It has no personal being, and the law 
of its nature is the only law of which it is capa- 
ble. We cherish, indeed, the innocent lamb, and 
destroy the ravenous wolf; but for the same reason 
that in a still lower sphere of nature, we cultivate 
those plants that are useful or pleasing, while we 
banish from our gardens the noxious and offensive. 
In respect to the moral law, they are upon the 
same level, and alike below its sphere. Whatever 
may be the specific nature of the animal, its de- 
terminate relations to the objects of sense, its 
appetites and instincts, so long as there is no pow- 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 475 

er whereby it is conceived capable of controlling 
these and making them the means to a higher 
end, the obligations of duty and the imputation of 
blame are felt to be heterogeneous and absurd. In 
obeying their appetites, they are controlled by the 
same necessity, and are alike irresponsible with 
the current of a river in obeying the law of grav- 
ity. I have dwelt upon this, for the purpose of 
characterizing the mode of action which pertains 
to the powers of nature universally, as distin- 
guished from a responsible will. Now man also 
has his natural powers, more various, more compli- 
cated and perfect, than any other creature of this 
lower world ; and as he came from the forming 
hand of God, pronounced, like all his other works, 
to be good. As a creature of sense, he has a ne- 
cessary relation to the world of sense. The pow- 
ers of animal life in man, as in all other animals, 
have their proper law of action, and require, as the 
condition of their natural agency, their correspond- 
ing objects in the world for which they are formed. 
The specific functions of sense and sensation, 
the appetites and instincts of nature, are grounded 
in the necessary relation of our natural life to its 
outward means of subsistence. This relation, both 
in respect to the race and the individual, is wholly 
and obviously independent of any conceivable 
agency on our part ; and the affections, the im- 
pulses and instinctive propensities of which we are 
individually conscious, as immediately resulting 
from this, pertain to the necessity of nature. Thus, 
we cannot avoid the sensations of hunger and 



476 ON THE NATURE, 

thirst, nor the natural impulse to action which they 
produce. These, with whatever else pertains to 
our nature as a distinct species among the crea- 
tures of the w r orld, or to its peculiar modifications 
in the individual man, are determined by the Au- 
thor of our being, and controlled by laws of action 
in nature and providence, which make them what 
they are. For what is thus constituted and deter- 
mined, independently of any personal agency of 
our own, we cannot conceive ourselves responsible, 
nor impute it to ourselves as either good or bad. 
We have the best authority, if that were neces- 
sary, for saying that it is not because the individ- 
ual himself or his parents have sinned, that a man 
is born blind ; and on the same obvious ground, 
we may say it is no matter of personal responsi- 
bility on our part, that we are born with a phleg- 
matic or a sanguine temperament, with mild and 
gentle or naturally excitable and violent affections, 
with great or small natural endowments of any 
kind. These, irrespective of the control of a 
higher or supernatural power, and the ends to 
which by its agency they are made subservient, 
have no moral character ; and w r e cannot, therefore, 
impute sin to them as its proper cause. It is thus, 
again, because we recognize in ourselves a power 
distinct from all that pertains to the agencies of 
our sensual nature, by which we are capable of 
rising above these, and of exercising a self-control, 
that the sense of moral accountability and the very 
distinction of right and wrong become possible for 
us. It is only for that in our character and con- 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 477 

duct which has its ground and origin in this higher 

o o o 

power, that we are responsible. However sin, 
therefore, may be connected with the exercise of 
our natural powers and the indulgence of our nat- 
ural propensities, it must be borne in mind, that it 
pertains to them, not by virtue of what they are 
in themselves simply, but only as they derive a 
character from the free will to whose ends they are 
made subservient. 

Here, then, in the fundamental distinction be- 
tween the necessary and blind agencies of our nat- 
ural powers, and that free intelligence and will by 
which we become capable of responsible action 
and of moral good and evil, we find some of the 
conditions necessary for determining what is the 
origin of sin. We cannot do otherwise than refer 
it to that higher power, by virtue of which alone 
we can be conceived capable of sin. What, then, 
let us inquire in the next place, is the form of evil 
by which the will transgresses the law of God ; 
and what is its relation to the agencies of our na- 
ture ? W T hat is the true import of the doctrine, 
that we are by nature the children of wrath, and 
in bondage to a law in our members which is op- 
posed to the law of the spirit? The view which 
I shall present, as answering these questions con- 
sistently with what has already been said, is, that 
the free will, or the spiritual principle in each man, 
instead of putting forth its powers in conformity 
with the spiritual and universal law of truth and 
righteousness, and seeking the ends which that law 
prescribes, determines itself to the pursuit of ends 



478 ON THE NATURE, 

limited by the conditions of the man's individual 
nature, and so becomes a natural self-will, receiv- 
ing the law of nature as its law and inward prin- 
ciple of action. The fact here asserted is, that 
each and all of us seek in the experiences of 
sense and within the limitations which our own 
sensuous natures prescribe, the self-proposed and 
ultimate ends of our personal being. Instead of 
finding in the sphere of sense and in the subject 
powers of nature merely that which, by the essen- 
tial conditions of our existence in a world of sense, 
we must find the outward objects and materials on 
which to exercise the agency of our higher intel- 
ligence and will, and making these subservient to 
our true end and the law of our spiritual being, 
every man, I say, seeks within the limitations of 
his individual experience and sensual nature the 
end also to which his purposes are directed. Thus, 
to illustrate these distinctions by a familiar exam- 
ple, the natural wants and appetites, both of the 
brute and of the man, excite to the attainment of 
their proper food, and in both a sensual pleasure is 
experienced in its reception. But while the agen- 
cy of the brute here is limited and controlled sim- 
ply by the natural appetite, so that it seeks food 
only as its nature craves and the sense of hunger 
prompts, the man, in the exercise of a power which 
does not pertain to the brute, can and does, even 
in the absence of the natural appetite, seek a repe- 
tition of the pleasure as a self-proposed end. 
Again, while the natural appetite of hunger is lim- 
ited by the wants of his organic system, and ceases 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 479 

when that want is satisfied, the desire of sensual 
pleasure, as arising from the gratification of the 
appetite and the pursuit of it as a self-proposed 
end, is without limit, and partakes of the .infinity 
of that higher power in which it originates. 

It is plain here, moreover, that in the pursuit of 
such pleasure as an end, the powers and agencies 
of his nature, as known in his conscious experi- 
ences, become the subordinate instruments of the 
will for the attainment of an end distinguishable 
from the ends of nature itself. Thus, as we well 
know, the epicure artificially stimulates his appe- 
tites, and abuses the powers of his nature, pervert- 
ing them from their proper end, in order to that 
more prolonged and intense gratification which is 
his own purpose and end. This end, therefore, as 
distinguishable from the ends of nature, and pur- 
sued at its cost, or capable of being so, is one 
which we propose to ourselves ; or in reference to 
which we act, only in the exercise of that reflex 
understanding and free will whereby we become 
capable of responsible action ; yet, in the case sup- 
posed, is sought within the sphere determined and 
limited by a particular appetite of our sensual na- 
ture. We freely seek, in this case, an end of our 
own, and one for which we are responsible, yet 
inseparable from a sensual appetite and limited by 
its condition. Nor is it conceivable, that while 
we limit our understandings and wills, in the deter- 
mination of an end, to the conscious experiences 
pertaining to this appetite, we can get beyond its 
sphere, or pursue any higher end. We can only 



480 ON THE NATURE, 

vary the forms and increase the degree of pleasure 
within the limits which the nature of that appetite 
prescribes. 

Suppose, then, that instead of limiting ourselves 
to the experiences connected with a single appe- 
tite, we have the whole compass of our sensual 
nature, and of the world of sense, as the sphere in 
which we seek the determination of our personal 
ends and purposes ; and we are still bound, each 
by the conditions of his individual experience. 
The highest result of thought and reflection, so di- 
rected for the determination of our purposes, can 
be but the pursuit and attainment of the highest 
end within the limitations of our individual and 
common nature, and can never transcend these. 
Thus, if we were to imagine brutes of different 
species, and of different grades in the scale of ex- 
istence, to be endued with the power of reflection 
and voluntary action, and each to limit its reflection 
and the determination of its purposes to the sphere 
of its own sensual experience and specific nature, 
the silk-worm and the tiger would necessarily pur- 
sue different ends, as their natures are different. 
It would, in each case, be an end determined un- 
der the conditions which the nature of the animal 
imposes ; the one within wider limits, and in some 
sense of a higher kind than the other; but in both, 
a conditional end, and subjected to the law of a 
specific nature. So of ourselves, though the high- 
est in the scale of nature. So long as we seek our 
personal ends in the sphere of our nature and in 
the world of sense, they are still conditional ends, 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 481 

and iii the will of every man are determined under 
limitations which his nature imposes. The ends 
which each man proposes to himself under these 
conditions, will consequently differ from those of 
every other man, as his individual nature and ex- 
perience differ. The ends thus determined, ob- 
serve, are obviously not identical with the end and 
purpose of nature as such, nor grounded in nature 
as the active principle by which we purpose and 
pursue them ; but have their ground and origin in 
the understanding and will. Yet while the will, in 
every man, seeks its ends under the conditions sup- 
posed, it is necessarily a conditional will, and 
every man must pursue his individual ends as lim- 
ited by the law of his nature. A will then, which, 
in the determination of its ends, thus limits itself 
to the sphere and conditions of an individual 
nature, is a self-will, and in bondage to nature. It 
can never, under these conditions, rise above na- 
ture in respect to the ends which it pursues, nor 
aim at any thing above and beyond the sphere of 
self-interest, as prescribed by the nature of the in- 
dividual man. Now, if we conceive the will to be 
thus determined to seek its ends in the sphere of 
sense, by a necessary law of cause and effect, it no 
longer answers the idea of a will, or spiritual 
power, but becomes a mere link in the agencies of 
nature. It must be conceived as self-determined 
and self-limited ; and we thus come back to the 
statement of the ultimate fact at which I have 
been aiming, and which, I trust, will be better un- 
derstood from these illustrations, that the will, or 
61 



482 ON THE NATURE, 

spiritual power in each man, and so in all the indi- 
viduals of our race, determines itself to the pursuit 
of ends limited by the conditions of an individual 
and sensual nature. The spiritual thus brings it- 
self in bondage to the natural, and man becomes a 
fallen being. In respect to the ends which he 
pursues, and the corresponding principle in the 
will by which he governs his conduct, he has fall- 
en from his true sphere, as a free and rational 
being, formed in the image of God, into the sphere 
of nature and the world of sense. He has turned 
away from the light of truth and the law of right- 
eousness, which prescribe his true end as a per- 
sonal being, and turned himself, with all the pow- 
ers of his free intelligence and will, to the seduc- 
tive shows by which we permit the senses to 
beguile us. 

I have thus aimed to exhibit what I conceive to 
be the ultimate fact which can be made intelligible 
to our minds, in respect to the relation of the spi- 
ritual to the natural and of the universal to the 
individual in man, as a fallen and sinful being. We 
cannot go farther, and inquire for a cause of the 
fact, consistently with that idea of the fact itself, 
which reason and conscience require us to assume. 
It must be referred to the free-will of the man, as 
its ultimate ground and only proper cause, or we 
cannot impute it to him as sin. But here again, 
we have the unalterable testimony of our conscien- 
ces, that it is sin, and that, in obeying the condi- 
tional law of our sensuous nature, we transgress 
the absolute and rightful law of our personal being. 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 483 

With the earliest dawn of conscious existence 
and of reason, we have a sense of obligation, and 
hear the whispers of that still small voice, which, 
listened to and understood, commands us to break 
the bonds of a sensual nature, and to bring all its 
powers and agencies into subjection to a higher 
law and subservience to a higher end. These con- 
victions, again, necessarily involve the idea exhib- 
ited in the account of the creation and fall of man, 
that in his original destiny, and in respect to that 
image of God in which he was created, he was, in 
his essential character and highest prerogative as 
man, a spiritual being, in such a sense that the ab- 
solute and universal law of truth and righteous- 
ness, or the law of the spiritual world, was his 
law, and that which prescribed his true and proper 
end ; that in obeying the law and placing himself 
under the conditions of a nature, therefore, he is 
in a fallen state, and subject to an alien law, from 
the bondage of which he needs to be redeemed. 
Hence the deliverance of man from the thraldom 
of sin, or the limitations of his natural self-will, 
must be conceived as a redemption from slavery, 
and a restoration to his primitive state of freedom 
in obeying the essential law of his own spiritual 
being. The conscientious convictions, I say, of 
every man who reflects, in respect to what he ought 
to be, compared with what he is, are such as to 
awaken the idea of a fallen condition correspond- 
ing with that which I have represented, and what 
I understand as contained in the language of rev- 
elation. This condition, too, as we have seen, is 



484 ON THE NATURE, 

not a fault of nature, and is given neither by cre- 
ation nor inheritance ; and though common to all, 
must jet be imputed to each, as having its ground 
iu the determination of his own will, or in that 
which is his most true and proper self. It is a 
condition of the will, for which every man knows 
himself to be responsible, and for which every man 
has in himself the sense of guilt and the sentence 
of condemnation. It is nothing less than a fall 
and alienation of the man himself from that state 
in which, according to the divine idea of humanity, 
he was destined to hold free and spiritual commu- 
nion with God, walking in the light as he is in the 
light, and freely conforming to the perfect law of 
righteousness ; and is a subjugation of himself, in 
his highest spiritual prerogative, to the narrow 
conditions and enslaving law of a sensual nature. 
This is that state of spiritual bondage in which, 
by nature, we all find ourselves ; and this we re- 
cognize as our misery and our guilt. We find, in 
the heart of our personal being, a principle and 
law of action which prescribes other ends than the 
law of conscience prescribes. Instead of obeying 
the truth in the spirit, and with free and rejoicing 
hearts putting forth the fulness of our strength 
in the pursuit of all that is true and holy and 
godlike, as we ought to do, we are enslaved 
to the law of our self-interest, and strive to 
subordinate all things to our individual ends. In- 
stead of subordinating the powers and propen- 
sities of our inferior nature to the higher law of 
our spiritual being, thus assigning to them their 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 485 

appropriate sphere, and clothing them, as we ought, 
with a supernatural dignity and glory, we rather 
carry disorder and confusion into the sphere of 
nature itself. We strive to force its powers and 
capacities beyond their prescribed limits, and to 
impart to them that infinity which alone can satis- 
fy the wants of our personal being. We bring, as 
it were, our spiritual powers into the sphere of a 
finite nature, and then seek to make it the instru- 
ment for satiating our infinite desires. We strive 
with capricious folly and madness to stimulate and 
task the powers of a corporeal and perishable na- 
ture, and to accumulate the means of sensual 
enjoyment, till they shall satisfy the infinite and 
endless cravings of that which only the infinite 
God and the absolute good can ever fill. 

Thus I have endeavored, as was proposed in 
the second division of the subject, to show the 
ground and origin of sin in respect to the distin- 
guishable powers of our being, and the conditions 
of its universality. I have presented a view which 
seems to me perfectly compatible with what was 
before said of the nature of sin, as determined in 
our practical convictions, and in accordance with 
all that is taught or implied in the word of God 
respecting the nature and origin of sin. I have 
endeavored to show, that in all its length and 
breadth and depth and height, as an evil principle 
in the heart of our personal being, it is one which 
we and we alone have originated, and for which 
we are individually responsible. The view pre- 
sented renders it apparent that this form of evil, 



486 ON THE NATURE, 

which as an ultimate and original principle is com- 
mon to all men, is such a determination of the 
will or spiritual power to the conditions, and such 
a subjection of it to the law, of an individual na- 
ture in each man, as constitutes a corruption and 
debasement of the will, limits it to the ends which 
that nature prescribes, and renders it in its inward 
and ultimate principle, a will of nature, or a self- 
will. As such, it is opposed to that universal and 
absolute law of God to which it ought to be sub- 
ject, and which requires the subordination of con- 
ditional and selfish ends and interests to those 
moral and spiritual ends which have an inherent 
and absolute worth, and an equal interest for all. 
In making the ends prescribed by his individual 
nature his ultimate aim, therefore, each man 
swerves from his own true end, which can be at- 
tained only in the subjugation of the individual to 
the universal, and of the finite to the infinite ; of 
himself, therefore, as an individual, to the pre- 
scriptions of the absolute reason, or rather to that 
Being of beings, in whom we no longer contem- 
plate an individual as co-ordinate with other indi- 
vidual existences, but the reality of the absolute 
and universal in a personal form. In making our- 
selves, then, and our own interest the end to which 
we subordinate all other interests, we put our- 
selves in the place of God. We strive to distin- 
guish and exalt the conditional and individual 
above the absolute and universal, and worship the 
creature more than the Creator, who is over all, 
God blessed forever. And such in each of us is 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 487 

the nature, the origin, and the infinite evil and sin- 
fulness of sin. Let us, then, not deceive our- 
selves with any vain efforts to believe that we are 
not sinners, or that the sinful principle which we 
find in ourselves is not a ground of personal blame- 
worthiness and the just displeasure of a righteous 
God. Let us rather listen to the testimony of our 
consciences, and with a full conviction and con- 
fession of our exceeding sinfulness as transgressors 
of his holy law and rebels against his rightful au- 
thority, implore the bestovvment of his grace, and 
of the redemption that is in Christ Jesus. 



DISCOURSE III. 

The views thus presented of the nature and ori- 
gin of sin, as w 7 e find it in our personal being, 
though apparently abstract and speculative in their 
general character, are yet inseparably connected 
with all that is most important in respect to our 
practical duties. True, it may be said, and few 
would say it with more emphasis than I am dis- 
posed to do, that in addressing moral and religious 
truth to the consciences of men, we may safely 
assume all that just and wise speculation can teach 
and prove in respect to the character of man as a 
sinner. This is, for the most part, undoubtedly, 
the course pursued by the original preachers of 
divine truth. Such, too, is the course ordinarily 



488 ON THE NATURE, 

most appropriate for him who would awaken the 
consciences of men, and lead them to repentance. 
It might, perhaps, be always and exclusively pro- 
per, were there no false opinions prevalent among 
speculative men, by which their minds are closed 
against the right apprehension of practical truth, 
and their consciences made inaccessible to its 
power. It is when the force of truth, as applied 
to the conscience, is weakened and turned aside by 
the influence of partial and false systems of spec- 
ulation, that it becomes necessary in addressing 
the consciences of men, to meet the cavils of ob- 
jectors, to remove the obstacles which error has 
raised against the influence of the truth, and to 
vindicate the authority of conscience itself. 

The more subtle the objections by which men 
shield their consciences, and the deeper the sources 
from which they are drawn, the more difficult, but 
at the same time the more necessary, does it be- 
come to expose their fallacy and guard our practi- 
cal convictions from their influence. In doing 
this, the most abstruse and subtle distinctions are 
sometimes indispensable and infinitely momen- 
tous, in order to the vindication of practical truth. 
No where, obviously, can they be more so, than 
in what concerns the grounds of our moral respon- 
sibility and the immediate relations of our personal 
will to nature and to God. It would be difficult, 
perhaps, to over-estimate the mischiefs which have 
resulted both to morals and religion from false 
speculative views on these points, applied to prac- 
tice both by moralists and by the preachers of the 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 489 

gospel. How often must the enlightened chris- 
tian rejoice that there is a depth and power in the 
conscience and in the practical convictions of men, 
which no speculative error of the understanding 
can wholly destroy, when he hears arguments 
used and sees means employed, which, if it were 
possible, instead of promoting, as they are design- 
ed to do, would subvert both morality and religion ! 
In looking, then, at the practical relations of the 
views which I have presented, as was proposed in 
the third division of the subject, I remark, in the 
first place, that if I have guarded my language as 
I intended to do, there will be found in it nothing 
that tends in any way to weaken our sense of per- 
sonal responsibility, or to alleviate our convictions 
of sin and guilt as transgressors of the law of God. 
In speaking of the origin of sin, I have limited 
myself to sin as we find it in ourselves, and as it 
is a principle of action in our personal will ; and I 
trust the views presented and the illustrations em- 
ployed will rather strengthen than contradict the 
testimony of an awakened conscience. But their 
relation to the immediate convictions of our moral 
being is so far given in connection with the views 
themselves, that we need not dwell upon it more 
at large. 

I proceed, then, to observe, in the second place, 
as a matter of great practical moment in the ap- 
plication of these views, that if they be correct, 
the distinction between motives of self-interest 
and the obligations of duty cannot be too strongly 
marked, in seeking to promote the interests wheth- 
62 



490 ON THE NATURE, 

er of morality or religion. In how many systems, 
and those too which have been taught in the higher 
schools of learning, has this distinction been virtu- 
ally if not explicitly denied ! How often has the 
violation of duty and conscience been represented 
as arising merely from want of a prudent foresight 
and a miscalculation of our own self-interest ! Nay, 
is not conscience itself, in the systems most gen- 
erally prevalent, resolved into a mere product of 
the sensualized understanding, and regarded as 
comprising the rules by which we are to be guided 
in the pursuit of happiness, as the supreme object 
of desire ? Not only from the theories of moral- 
ists, but too often from the language of the pulpit 
also, it would be supposed that an enlightened self- 
interest was the highest, and indeed the only prin- 
ciple of action, by which it is possible for a wise 
man to be governed ; and that the only difference 
between the good and the bad man is, that the one 
understands his interest better than the other. 
Yet, if there be any ground of truth in the views 
which I have advanced, the pursuit of self-interest 
as an ultimate end is in direct conflict with the 
law of conscience, and the very root and principle 
of evil in our personal being is the determination 
of the will to the attainment of our individual 
ends, as distinguished from those which conscience 
commands us to pursue. 

So long as our own happiness is the supreme 
object of desire and the controlling motive of 
action, there can surely be no essential difference 
of character in the sight of God, whether we seek 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 491 

it with careless impetuosity, or with cautious and 
far-sighted prudence, in this world or a future one ; 
or even whether it be by obeying or violating the 
prescriptions of a divine law, so far as both are 
possible from the same motive and inward princi- 
ple of action. If self-interest, as a principle of 
action, and in its relation to the law of duty, be 
what I have represented it, then out of this there 
can spring no true obedience to the divine law. 
The highest that it can produce is what St. Paul 
designates as the works of the law, or a mere out- 
ward form of obedience, without a right spiritual 
principle within. It is consequently not true spir- 
itual obedience, and is not accounted righteous in 
the sight of God. The first step, therefore, of 
man, as a fallen being and in bondage to the evil 
principle, the very beginning of right action, is 
repentance, or a turning away of the mind and will 
from the ends of self-interest, and a turning to 
God, as in himself the supreme object of desire. 
There must of necessity be an absolute denial of 
self, not the subordination merely of a less interest 
to a greater, or of a present to a future ; but an 
entire subordination of the individual and natural 
will, and of all particular ends, to the will of God 
and the ends prescribed by the universal law. 
This, conscience commands, in its every admonition 
of duty ; and this is the law of duty, as distin- 
guished from the instinct of nature and the law of 
the natural will. This, too, is the repentance and 
self-denial which alone will satisfy the dictates of 
an awakened conscience and the conditions either 



492 ON THE NATURE, 

of the law or of the gospel. To effect this, by 
awakening in the minds of men a distinct con- 
sciousness of their relations as responsible beings, 
of what they are as sinners, and of what they 
ought to be, by strengthening the convictions of 
duty, and as far as human agency can do so, em- 
powering the conscience, is the true and legitimate 
purpose of all moral and religious truth, addressed 
to men as sinners and in need of repentance. 
What, then, in relation to this end, must be the 
proper effect of that instruction, which, instead of 
enforcing truly the conviction, that in seeking our 
own interest as the supreme end, we have griev- 
ously sinned and done evil in the sight of God, 
under whatever form and by whatever means we 
have pursued it, teaches that it is only conditionally 
wrong, and that our guilt is but an error of judg- 
ment in respect to the right means of attaining 
the desired end ? What is this, in effect, but to 
resolve duty into the cautious and prudent pursuit 
of happiness, and all sin into a want of prudence, 
or a mistake of judgment ? 

Again let me ask, what must be the effect of 
that predominance, which we so often witness in 
the instructions and exhortations of the pulpit, of 
appeals to motives of self-interest, over that sim- 
ple exhibition of divine truth, which is fitted to 
awaken a consciousness of sin, and of the obliga- 
tion to be holy ? True, our Saviour and his apos- 
tles sometimes address themselves to the interests, 
the hopes and fears of men ; nor can any one 
doubt, that to arouse men from the lethargy and 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 493 

false security of sin, it is necessary and proper. 
But as the highest motive by which the good man 
should be governed, and as a principle of action on 
which the awakened sinner can safely rest, it is 
authorized neither by conscience nor the word of 
God. Is there not reason to fear that the character 
and purpose of the gospel, and of the christian sys- 
tem, are exposed to grievous misapprehension, 
from a too exclusive reference to the natural desire 
of happiness, in enforcing their instructions ? Some 
of us, at least, have met with men of strong minds 
and not wholly regardless of truth and duty, who 
have been alienated from the doctrines and duties 
of Christianity by being led to misconceive it, as a 
system which appealed only to mercenary motives, 
to the fears of punishment, and hopes of reward in 
a future life. Such men see and know, that these 
are not the true and highest grounds of moral ac- 
tion, and so will maintain that they have a better 
system, and are governed by higher motives than 
the preachers of the gospel urge upon their hear- 
ers. So much occasion, too, is sometimes given, 
unhappily for men, who, instead of studying the 
gospel as they ought, receive their impressions of it 
from what they hear, to fall into this fatal error, that 
one might be tempted to wish, according to a fable 
of one of the Christian fathers, for the annihilation 
of both heaven and hell, in order that men might 
serve God from pure love, without fear of punish- 
ment or hope of reward. The true end and pur- 
pose of the gospel, in regard to the moral condition 
of man, unquestionably is to subdue aud eradicate 



494 ON THE NATURE, 

the self-seeking principle of our natural will, as 
essentially evil, and contrary to the law of the 
Spirit, by the power of divine truth, and the aids 
of that spirit which accompanies and abides in the 
truth, to impart a higher and spiritual principle of 
obedience to the divine law, and thus to restore in 
us the ruins of the fall. But we obviously cannot 
hope, from any conceivable relation of the means 
to the end, to accomplish this by addressing to 
others, or by considering ourselves, excitements to 
action, which appeal to, and so call into exercise, 
the principle itself which we aim to subdue. 
To urge upon one, that he must deny himself 
for the sake of himself, and his own interest, in 
any strict and absolute sense, is either to expose 
him to self-delusion, or to perplex him with con- 
tradiction and absurdity. But to teach us that we 
must truly deny ourselves, must suppress every 
motive of self-interest, and subordinate all individ- 
ual ends to the higher ends of truth and right- 
eousness, must esteem our lives but for the truth's 
sake, and our most chosen ends only for right- 
eousness sake ; that we must love our neighbor as 
ourselves, and God above all, is to second the ad- 
monitions of conscience, and co-operate with the 
word and Spirit of God. Again, if we persuade 
men, that they must obey the law of God in or- 
der to attain happiness, and so make holiness of 
life only the means to an end, we are involved in 
a like contradiction, and preclude the true idea of 
holiness as itself an absolute end, and desirable for 
its own sake. Nor is it more rational, according 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 495 

to these views, to urge the love and worship of 
God merely as a being able and disposed to pro- 
mote the happiness of his creatures. We obvious- 
ly regard him and his agency in that view only in 
the relation of means to an end, and our love and 
worship properly terminate upon the ultimate end, 
of which he is but the instrument. But if, while 
we humble and abase ourselves in the dust, and 
lose sight of all inferior ends, we fill our souls 
with the contemplation of God, as including in 
himself all absolute good, if we reverence his wis- 
dom, if we adorn his holiness, if we are penetrat- 
ed and overawed by a sense of his omnipresent 
power, as pervading and sustaining all life and all 
being, if we love and worship him as in himself 
all glorious and worthy of love and adoration, and 
look to him as not only the first cause, but the 
last end, not only of whom and through whom, 
but to and for whom are all things, we may learn 
more justly to appreciate the pursuit of happiness, 
and its relation as a motive to the attainment of 
our true end. We may learn what it is truly to for- 
sake ourselves, to come forth from the narrowness 
of our self-will, and with christian liberty to obey 
God in spirit and in truth. This we can never do, 
so long as we practically confound the requisitions 
of the divine law with the dictates of self-interest, 
and measure our obedience by our views of its 
profit. It is only when the self-will is crucified 
with Christ, that the free spirit of man can go 
forth unshackled, and become fruitful in all good 
works. It is only when that slavish bond of self- 



496 ON THE NATURE, 

interest is broken, that the man can delight in and 
without restraint pursue every good end, doing in- 
differently whatsoever things are true and lovely 
and of good report. 

But I proceed to remark in the third place, that 
from the views which I have presented of the na- 
ture and origin of sin and of our character and 
condition as sinners, we are able to understand our 
need of redemption from the power of evil, and to 
see that Christianity is a system adapted to our 
need. Sin and redemption, the fallen state of man, 
and that system by which, in the wisdom and love 
of God, his restoration is to be effected, have a 
necessary relation to each other. The deeper and 
truer, then, our knowledge of sin may be, the bet- 
ter can we understand and appreciate the character 
of Christ and his gospel. Our views of Christian- 
ity, indeed, must be, and always are, conformed 
more or less fully, according to the extent and con- 
sequentness of our reflection upon their relation 
to each other, to our views of the natural condition 
and character of man. If we regard ourselves as 
not truly sinners, alienated in our personal being 
from God and our true end, not so fallen and lost 
as to need a divine power to redeem and save us 
from spiritual death, but only ignorant and impru- 
dent, needing but instruction and warning to 
secure the attainment of our true end, and capable 
of being educated into a life of holiness, then we 
shall of course regard Christ as but a teacher, sent 
to point out to us the way of duty and happi- 
ness, and his gospel but a volume of instructions, 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 497 

which we are of ourselves fully competent to ob- 
serve. It could be for us, in that case, only a system 
or collection of truths and admonitions, not essen- 
tially differing in kind from the various systems of 
ancient wisdom, in which the highest good, and 
the way of attaining it, are professedly taught. It 
might, indeed, be better than these, but would still 
differ only in degree ; and Christ, instead of being 
a manifestation of God and the divine humanity, a 
realization of the highest idea of reason under the 
forms of sense, is but an individual man, and to be 
classed as one of the ancient sages. With those 
superficial views of the nature of sin, and of man 
tasa sinner, which amount to a denial of the doc- 
trine of original sin and of the fall of man, I say, 
Christ and the gospel of the grace of God can ra- 
tionally be understood in no higher sense. What- 
ever perplexities we may find in explaining its lan- 
guage on these assumptions, whatever apparent 
mysteries and strange pretensions to a supernatural 
and divine character there may be in Christ, and 
in those words which he tells us are spirit and life, 
we must resolve them into metaphor and eastern 
hyperbole, or give up the whole as an unintelligi- 
ble enigma. 

But on the other hand, if we are indeed sinners, 
and if sin be an evil of such depth and malignity, 
and having such a relation to our spiritual being, 
as has been represented in the former parts of this 
discourse, then, again, we are prepared to appre- 
hend the character of Christ, the meaning and 
power of his words, and to appreciate Christianity, 
63 



498 ON THE NATURE, 

as a system in all its parts and relations, in a far 
different manner. The whole then acquires a 
depth and fulness of meaning and intelligibility of 
relation, which of itself is a strong presumptive 
evidence that those views of our native character 
and condition are essentially true, and such as 
were acted upon by Him who knew what was in 
man. It was not, indeed, the peculiar and appro- 
priate purpose of the gospel to teach at large the 
doctrine of man's fallen condition as a sinner, 
since this is adequately revealed in the conscience 
of every man who is in earnest to know his own 
character, and was taught both in schools of phi- 
losophy and in the more popular mythologies, as* 
well as in the Old Testament, before the coming 
of Christ. It was, therefore, assumed, and must 
be regarded as the antecedent ground and condi- 
tion to which Christianity was adapted, and with- 
out an assumption of which it must remain unin- 
telligible. In order, then, to a right interpretation 
of the system, and a right understanding of it as a 
system, we must necessarily inquire what was as- 
sumed, and on what assumption is it possible to 
understand its meaning. What I mean to say, 
then, is, that the views presented in the former 
parts of this discourse, not only have their own 
proper grounds of evidence, but that, when ap- 
plied to the Christian system, they mutually 
explain and confirm each other ; and that we are 
thus prepared rightly to estimate the work of re- 
demption. On this ground, and with this view, 
we cannot too often or too deeply meditate upon 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 499 

our lost condition, the extent and malignity of the 
evil, the depth and hopelessness of the ruin, from 
which, in the boundless love of God, his Son came 
to redeem us. We cannot be too cautious to ad- 
mit the whole truth on the one hand, in order to a 
just appreciation of the whole truth on the other. 
If, then, we are in ourselves estranged from the 
law of God, and in our personal being wholly in 
bondage to sin, in the sense represented, we can 
understand what our Saviour means, when he tells 
us the Son of Man is come to save that which was 
lost. If we are not only poor and miserable in 
ourselves, but guilty of rebellion against God and 
opposition to a holy law, and therefore under a 
just condemnation, exposed to the righteous pen- 
alty which we have incurred, we may apprehend, 
in some measure, how God commendeth his love 
toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, 
Christ died for us. Again, if we so feel the evil 
of sin, as a principle affecting the essential charac- 
ter of our spiritual being and bringing us in bon- 
dage to the law in our members, as to realize the 
necessity of a higher principle than belongs to our 
enslaved natural will, in order to overcome and 
subdue its malignant power, we are prepared to 
receive the doctrine, that we must be born again, 
and to hail, w T ith joy and thanksgiving, the prof- 
fered aids of that spiritual power which is in 
Christ and in the Spirit of all grace, to deliver us 
from the dominion of death, and restore us to spir- 
itual life. According to the depth of insight with 
which we contemplate the apostasy of our whole 



500 ON THE NATURE, 

race from God, and the import of the language 
which represents the world as lying in wickedness, 
so will be, in like manner, the degree of justness 
with which we appreciate the ministry of recon- 
ciliation, and the doctrine that God was in Christ 
reconciling the world unto himself. Thus at all 
points one thing is over against another, and all 
the provisions of the gospel have a meaning and 
an application which we can fully apprehend only 
when we look deeply and steadfastly into our own 
hearts, and become conscious of our spiritual mal- 
adies and our perishing wants. An adequate 
knowledge of ourselves and of our spiritual char- 
acter and relations is thus the necessary condition 
of our knowing what Christ is, as the Saviour of 
sinners, and of our rightly interpreting all that in 
the volume of revelation, which has reference to 
our inward experience, and to that which is spir- 
itual in us. 

Nor, in reference to our personal estimation of 
the need of Christ and the infinite worth and im- 
portance of what he has done and is ever ready 
and willing to do for us, will mere speculative 
views of the nature and origin of sin suffice. It 
must become, for each of us, a matter of personal 
concern. So long as it remains in the head, it can 
only remove the speculative obstacles to the prac- 
tical admission of the truth. We must take it 
home to our hearts. We must practically and 
deeply realize that we, even we ourselves, are 
guilty and exceeding sinful in the sight of a just 
and holy God. We must not only feel that we are 



GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 501 

in danger, and our eternal happiness at stake, but 
that we are ill-deserving, transgressors of the law 
of God, and exposed to the righteous judgment, 
not only of our own consciences, but of Him who 
is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity. This, for 
the fully awakened conscience, unquestionably is 
the point of practical moment and of highest con- 
cern. Before the tribunal of conscience, it is not 
a question of self-interest, of safety or danger in 
respect to present or future enjoyment, but. a ques- 
tion of desert ; not primarily how we can be saved 
from suffering, but how we can be saved from the 
inward reality and the oppressive sense of sin and 
guilt. How can man be just with God, and be- 
come holy and acceptable in his sight ? 

It is in this state of mind, with these questions 
pressing themselves home upon our hearts, and 
giving us no rest till we find an answer, that we 
can know the meaning of the gospel. It is when 
we are overwhelmed with a consciousness of our 
guilt, of the exceeding sinfulness of transgressing 
a holy law, and of worshipping the creature more 
than the Creator, of serving ourselves instead of 
the adorable God, that we can feel the power of 
those words of our Saviour, Come unto me, ye 
that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you 
rest. It is from the evil and burthen of sin, that 
Christ came to deliver us ; for he was sent not to 
call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. 



DISCOURSE. 



THE TRUE GROUND, IN MAN'S CHARACTER, 
AND CONDITION, OF HIS NEED OF CHRIST. 



IN THE LAST DAY, THAT GREAT DAY OF THE FEAST, 
JESUS STOOD AND CRIED, SAYING, IF ANY MAN 
THIRST, LET HIM COME UNTO ME, AND DRINK.— 
John vii. 37. 

The circumstances in which these words of our 
Saviour were uttered, are briefly indicated in the 
text. He seems to have seized upon a favorable 
occasion which offered itself, as he often did upon 
other incidents of a worldly nature, to give greater 
significance and effect to the spiritual instruction 
which his words conveyed. Could their full im- 
port have been understood, and its relation to 
themselves appreciated, by the thronging multi- 
tudes around him, how unheeded would have been 
the pomp of their festival, and how w T ould all ears 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 503 

have listened to the words of him who spake as 
never man spake ! The occasion here referred to 
was connected with the feast of tabernacles ; and, 
even to our minds, perhaps, may serve to present 
in stronger relief the character which Christ as- 
sumed, and the import of the proclamation which 
he made. The festival, in its general character, 
even as instituted by Moses, was one of great na- 
tional interest. In the pomp of its ceremonial, 
and in the multitude of those who in after times 
went up to participate in its numerous sacrifices 
and to pay their vows unto the Lord, it was the 
greatest and most celebrated of all the national an- 
niversaries of the Jews. Designed to commemo- 
rate their long and painful sojourn in the wilder- 
ness, where, hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted 
in them, it was at the same time connected with 
the autumnal harvests, and was a season of thanks- 
giving to Him who had delivered them out of their 
distresses, and was now crowning the year with 
his goodness. As they looked upon the crowded 
tabernacles, or temporary coverings, under which 
they were required to seek shelter during the pe- 
riod of its celebration, their minds were carried 
back to those tents which had been pitched upon 
the waste and barren desert, where they wandered 
in a solitary way, and found no city to dwell in. 
But these, again, were now but an occasion for 
national joy and thanksgiving, by their contrast 
with that great city of habitation to which the 
good providence of God had conducted them, and 



504 man's need of christ. 

with those surrounding palaces in which God was 
known for a refuge. 

Especially was it matter of rejoicing, that they 
now pitched their tents in the precincts of their 
national temple. This was the bond of union, and 
the common centre of attraction for the whole peo- 
ple ; and hither, at this season of national thanks- 
giving, they came up from their cities and villages, 
whether near or more remote, to contemplate its 
outward magnificence, and to worship before the 
holy place of the tabernacle of the Most High. It 
was thus, that at each anniversary, its courts were 
thronged with rejoicing multitudes, and the sol- 
emn rites of the occasion performed with that fer- 
vor of national enthusiasm, which they could not 
but inspire. To these rites, as instituted by Moses, 
we are told that in these latter times many addi- 
tions had been made. Especially was the eighth 
day, here called the great day of the feast, which 
was at the same time the last in the festive solem- 
nities of the year, crowded with many pompous 
ceremonies, and celebrated with peculiar splendor. 
It was a day of universal jubilee among the assem- 
bled people ; and so greatly was it distinguished, 
that the Jewish writers were accustomed to say, 
" He had no conception of a jubilee, who had not 
witnessed these festive scenes." 

Among the additional observances practised in 
these times, the most remarkable was that of car- 
rying water in a golden phial from the fountain of 
Siloa, and pouring it upon the altar. This is sup- 
posed by many to have been suggested by the pro- 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 505 

phetic language of Isaiah, and to have been adopt- 
ed with reference to the expected blessings of the 
Messiah's kingdom. It was at least regarded as a 
sacred symbol, and carried with circumstances of 
excessive joy, with sound of trumpets and shouted 
hallelujahs, while the priests sang in chorus the 
words of the prophet, " With joy shall ye draw 
water from the wells of salvation." It was pro- 
bably, we are told, with reference to this interest- 
ing rite, and amidst these multitudes, dazzled with 
the imposing splendor of outward ceremonials and 
intoxicated with sounds of joy, that Jesus present- 
ed himself, and addressed the people as related in 
the text. And who is he, and what is his message, 
who, upon the threshold of that temple, and upon 
such an occasion, claims attention to himself and 
his words ? We see him in the calm dignity and 
commanding power of a higher consciousness, but 
with no outward marks of distinction, standing 
there, and calling away the attention of the multi- 
tude from the sacred waters of Siloa, and from all 
their outward occasions of national festivity, to 
himself as the paramount object of regard. He 
proclaims himself as being, both for them and for 
all men, the true fountain of the water of life. If 
any man thirst, let him come to me, and drink. 
He that cometh to me shall never hunger, and he 
that believeth on me shall never thirst. 

What, then, let us inquire, is the true import of 
a declaration, which, by the circumstances in 
which it was made, so loudly claims our regard ; 
and on what grounds, in respect to its author and 
64 



506 man's need of Christ. 

to the individuals of our race, can the declaration 
be justified to our understandings and our hearts? 

In answering these questions, I shall endeavor, 
first, to explain the import of the figurative language 
in which it is expressed ; 2ndly, to show w r hat it is 
in the character and condition of man, which is 
the ground of the relation to Christ implied in the 
text; and, 3rdly, to exhibit the character of 
Christ, as corresponding to that relation, and in 
reference to our spiritual wants. 

1. In the first place, then, we are to inquire 
what is the literal sense of the figurative language 
of the text. Such language is, indeed, of very 
frequent occurrence, and may seem too obvious to 
need explanation. From the circumstances in 
which it was used, however, and in reference to 
the views which I propose to take of it, I shall 
venture to regard it in two senses, nearly connect- 
ed, indeed, yet distinguishable from each other, 
and worthy of distinct attention. 

According to the first and more obvious of the 
senses to which I refer, the terms of the express- 
ion are used, as hunger and its corresponding grat- 
ification often are in like circumstances, for any 
conscious desire in relation to its appropriate ob- 
ject. As employed by our Saviour here and else- 
where, they must be understood to refer to a con- 
scious desire for those spiritual blessings which 
were but symbolically represented in the festival 
rites of the occasion, but which he claimed the 
power to impart. To those engaged with fervent 
enthusiasm in the solemnities of their national 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 507 

worship, the meaning of his declaration was, if any 
man truly and earnestly desires the spiritual real- 
ity, which is here exhibited but in types and shad- 
ows, let him come unto me, and satisfy the desires 
of his soul with substantial good. Ye who look 
and long for those waters from the wells of salva- 
tion, turn away from the symbolical waters of 
Siloa, and come unto me. In me will you find 
the spiritual blessings which you seek ; and whoso- 
ever drinketh the water that I shall give him, it 
shall be in him a well of water, springing up into 
everlasting life. 

Similar to this language of our Saviour in its 
figurative character, is that invitation of the proph- 
et Isaiah : Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye 
to the waters ; and that expression of intense de- 
sire in the Psalmist, in which he exclaims, My soul 
thirsteth for God, for the living God : when shall 
I come and appear before God ? How blessed, in 
their relation to him, are all those who find in them- 
selves this conscious and outbreaking desire for 
the spiritual treasures that are in Christ, and that 
he is so ready to impart ! Blessed are they that 
hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they 
shall be filled. 

But according to the other and less obvious 
meaning which I ascribe to the declaration in the 
text, it is understood to refer to that inward need, 
which, though he may be unconscious of it, the 
soul of every man has of Christ and of the spirit- 
ual blessings which he proffers for our acceptance. 
In this more extended metaphorical sense, the same 



508 man's need of christ. 

language is often applied, not only to the uncon- 
scious need of beings capable of conscious desire, 
but also to the lower orders of organic existence, 
and even to inanimate objects in relation to what 
may be necessary for the attainment of their sup- 
posed end. Thus every creature may be said to 
thirst for and to seek after its appropriate good, 
and that which is necessary to the attainment of 
its prescribed end, though unconscious, and conse- 
quently undesirous of that to which it holds such 
a relation. In this sense our Saviour may be un- 
derstood as saying that the inward necessities of 
every human soul place it in this relation to him- 
self. Such is the proper end towards which it is 
borne by the original law of its spiritual being, and 
such are the conditions of its attainment, that it 
stands in need of Christ, and must come to him 
for the supply of its spiritual wants. In other 
words, Christ here proffers himself as the good 
which the spirit of man needs ; and the intensity of 
that need he expresses by thirst, the most unap- 
peasable of our natural organic cravings, the most 
indispensable of our bodily wants. Whatever 
else we may do without, according to the sense of 
our Saviour's language, we cannot do without him. 
He is that for our souls, and the inmost necessi- 
ties of our spiritual being, which water is for the 
body when fainting and perishing for thirst. The 
invitation of our Saviour, therefore, is to every 
man to come unto him for the supply of his spirit- 
ual necessities ; for that without which he can 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 509 

never attain the true and proper end of his being, 
but must remain restless and unblest forever. 

2. But let us proceed to inquire more partic- 
ularly, in the second place, what it is in the inward 
character and condition of man, which is the 
ground of this relation to Christ. To this it might 
be answered in a word, that it is found in that 
higher capacity for the reception of spiritual good, 
which, however unconscious he may be of it, per- 
tains to the soul of every man, and which no infe- 
rior or worldly objects can ever fill. To render 
this fully intelligible, however, in its distinctive 
character, and in the actual condition of man, far- 
ther consideration may be necessary. 

In a general way, then, what is here said of the 
soul of man may be illustrated, by referring it to 
that universal law to which all finite and creature- 
ly existences are subjected ; that, namely, of de- 
pendence and insufficiency in themselves for the 
accomplishment of their proper end. All need 
and require, as the indispensable condition of their 
existence, a good out of themselves, which they 
may be said, according to their several powers, to 
seek after, and which in turn is suited to their 
wants. Look, for example, at that beginning of 
the ways of God, the mysterious life of the vege- 
table world. See how it puts forth in boundless 
luxuriance its ever-varying forms. With what per- 
vading power it forces its way through all the 
apparent obstacles of inorganic nature, clothing 
the rocks with its verdure, and diffusing its fra- 
grance over the burning sands of the desert. But 



510 man's NEED OF CHRIST. 

on the rock and in the desert God has provided it 
with the means of its subsistence, with the mate- 
rials of its growth, and endued it with the pow- 
ers by which it seeks out and appropriates them 
to its use. While it clothes the earth with beau- 
ty, and sends upwards its expanding foliage, 
breathing healthful influences into the surround- 
ing air, and paying homage to the sun, it must be 
remembered that in and by these it lives ; that it 
receives from the earth and air and sun the ele- 
ments of which all the substance of its growth is 
composed, its form of beauty or of stateliness, the 
verdure of its leaves and the fragrance of its 
flowers. It is God who has thus fitted them for 
each other, and who so clothes the grass, which 
to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven. 

We may carry the same principle upward 
through the whole range of living nature ; and 
while we are compelled to refer to a specific pow- 
er of life within, we are under an equal necessity 
of looking to the specific provision for the devel- 
opement of each successive power in the world 
without. Thus, while the inferior life of the plant 
finds the material of its existence and the condi- 
tions necessary to the proper ends of its being in 
the inorganic elements, it is itself, in turn, the out- 
ward condition of life and growth to the various 
orders of animal creation. These, as they go 
forth in countless myriads upon the face of the 
earth, as they pass through the paths of the seas, or 
fly in the open firmament of heaven, seek, each 
after its kind, an appropriate good in the world 



MAN'S NEED OF CHRIST. 511 

around them, and receive their supply from the 
same all-bountiful Giver. He causeth grass to 
grow for cattle, and herb for the service of man. 
These all wait upon Thee, that thou mayest give 
them their meat in due season. That thou givest 
them, they gather ; thou openest thine hand, they 
are filled with good. Thou hidest thy face, they 
are troubled ; thou takest away their breath, they 
die, and return to their dust. 

Thus far, the relation of man to external na- 
ture, as the necessary outward condition of his ex- 
istence, is obviously the same with that of the in- 
ferior orders of creation. As to the powers of his 
organic life, he stands related to all the elements. 
The earth and sky, the illuminating and warming 
rays of the sun, the vital air, the manifold products 
of vegetable and of animal life, the world, in all 
its fulness and variety, are the sphere and contain 
the outward conditions of his animal existence. 
These, the Giver of all good has placed around 
him, and among these he must, by the conditions 
of his existence as a creature of this world, and in 
the exercise of his physical powers, seek the means 
necessary to his sensual life. Without these he 
cannot live. With all his superior powers of life, 
and the wonder-working energies of his complica- 
ted organs, he needs that which they cannot give ; 
he hungers for a morsel of bread, and thirsts for a 
drop of water. These he must have, or his eyes 
will start from their sockets in the consuming rage 
of hunger and thirst. He that feedeth the fowls 
of the air, must feed him also. 



512 man's need of christ. 

But has man no higher powers than those which 
belong to him in common with the brute ; and is 
he connected with nothing out of himself, as the 
necessary condition of their developement, other 
than that on which his physical existence depends ? 
This is one point for which I wished to prepare the 
way by the illustrations already adduced ; namely, 
from what is so undeniable in regard to the powers 
of vegetable and animal life, to render more pre- 
sumable and evident the truth of the same princi- 
ple in respect to whatever higher powers and ca- 
pacities we may possess. If there be that within 
us which is nobler than the instincts of organic 
life, and strives for the attainment of a higher end, 
it is yet equally dependent upon that which is pro- 
vided without, as the condition on which alone 
that end can be attained. Nor can those higher 
wants be satisfied and that higher end secured by 
means of the same outward objects and conditions 
w T hich suffice for the brute and for our own mere 
animal nature. Strictly speaking, it is only in re- 
spect to those powers of life which man possesses 
in common with the vegetable and brute creation, 
those concerned in the growth and perfection of 
his bodily organs, that he is immediately related to 
the inferior objects around him, as before described. 
It needs but a moment's reflection to see that he 
has powers of action and capacities of enjoyment 
which cannot find in these the means and condi- 
tions of their growth, but must be excited and 
nourished by that which has a specific relation to 
their higher wants. For in the midst of material 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 513 

nature, and surrounded by a ceaseless exuberance 
and variety of that which supplies the mere wants 
of the body, what is man without men ? Will he 
or can he become truly a man, without that human 
intercourse, and the presence of those more than 
merely sensible objects, which properly awaken 
and call forth the distinguishing powers of human- 
ity ? Will he hold intellectual converse, and dis- 
course of truth and right, with the senseless plant 
or the speechless brute ? Will the human, the so- 
cial and moral affections of his soul find adequate 
excitement in the beauty of flowers, in the sub- 
dued or even impassioned look with which the 
forms and aspects of brute natures address his eye, 
or the tones with which their thousand voices fill 
his ear ? Will he indeed find awakened in him- 
self those moral affections and charities which 
raise him above the brute, and pour them forth, as 
from an inward fountain, while, in the wide world 
around him, there is no human heart that answers 
to his ? To these questions, reason, analogy, and 
experience, so far as it is possible to have its testi- 
mony, answer, No. In these circumstances, man 
would himself remain, as to the actual develope- 
ment and exercise of those higher powers which 
characterize him as a social and intelligent and 
moral being, little more than a speechless brute. 
However his bodily hunger and thirst might be 
satisfied, and his corporeal organs attain their full 
developement and symmetry of form, his soul's 
need would be unprovided for. There would be 
a hungering and thirsting for some unknown and 
65 



514 man's need of christ. 

unexperienced good. His higher powers and ten- 
dencies would fail of their appropriate objects and 
ends, and show their existence only in obscure and 
ineffectual longings for that which the surrounding 
world could not supply. 

The human soul, then, in respect to those pow- 
ers of intelligence and those moral and social af- 
fections which are manifested in the relations of 
society, has its appropriate sphere of existence, 
and finds the conditions of its growth and well- 
being in the intercourse of mind with mind and 
heart with heart. It neither finds its proper nour- 
ishment, nor attains its proper end, without some- 
thing above and beyond that w 7 hich feeds the body. 
As its own peculiar powers and affections are 
higher and more inward than the life of the body, 
so it seeks in the world around it for that which 
has also a higher life and a kindred heart. It loves 
only that which can return its love. It opens the 
deep fountain of its joy and sorrow, the sacred 
source of smiles and tears, only to that kindred 
power whose presence it recognizes in the expres- 
sion of a human eye, and in the tones of a human 
voice. It speaks, it utters forth a thought, a word, 
out of its inner world of thought, only to that 
which has also its inner world, and understands, 
and utters back, a word. This it is, and this 
alone, which can call forth, and feed with food con- 
venient for it, the inner soul, the mind and heart 
of man. This is the provision which it needs, and 
which again it must have, as the condition of its 
moral and intellectual life, of its truly becoming a 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 515 

human soul. And here, too, who will not recog- 
nize the wisdom and goodness of the same all- 
wise and bountiful Giver, in the rich supply for 
these wants also, which, without our agency or 
care, we find thrown around us. From the very 
dawn of our existence, we are compassed about by 
his care. As he supplies the wants of the body, 
so he satisfieth the longing soul, and fllleth the 
hungry soul with goodness. 

The world which our souls need, is the world 
in which we live and move from infancy to age. 
Look at the infant upon its mother's bosom. Does 
it seek there for the food which nourishes its body, 
believing as it were, with at least an implied and 
undoubting faith, that He who gave it life has 
made provision for its wants ? With the same 
earnest seeking, and a like urgent need, does its 
eye search for that which is necessary to the high- 
er ends of its being, to the powers and capacities, 
the dawning affections and sympathies of a human 
soul. And lo ! this too it has found already there, 
and beaming upon it in the look of a mother's love. 
There, in alternate smiles and tears, and in those 
tones which come from the heart and reach the 
heart, it has found the provision which it needs. 
It has found that which awakens and cherishes 
the inward attributes of humanity. Thus, by all 
the expressions of human kindness, the correspond- 
ing affections are awakened and cultivated. How 
soon, too, is the faculty of thought and of speech 
excited and nourished by the sounds of our mother 
tongue, and the mind brought into communion 



516 man's need of christ. 

with other minds ! This stage in the develope- 
ment of our powers once gained, the wants and 
purposes of the heart converted into thoughts, and 
thoughts into words, how rapidly are those wants 
multiplied, and how eagerly do we seek in the world 
around us for the objects which they require ! 
These we find, according to our need, from child- 
hood to youth, and from youth to manhood, in the 
intercourse of kindred minds ; in the sentiments, 
the passions and purposes which are manifested 
around us and nourish our own. By all that en- 
virons us in the sphere of humanity, the various 
institutions of civilized society, the conflict of in- 
terests and passions in which we are involved from 
day to day, and especially by the treasures of 
thought in the language which we inherit, the 
powers of our own inward being are called forth 
and their wants supplied. By these, as the out- 
ward means and conditions, we, too, come to the 
conscious possession and enjoyment of all that per- 
tains to the social and intellectual life of man. 
We, too, become prepared to exhibit the character 
and to act the part of men, in the duties and re- 
sponsibilities of human life. 

Thus the individual man is the nursling of hu- 
manity. As the life of his body is nourished in 
the lap of nature, and seeks its proper food in the 
material elements around it, so the soul is embos- 
omed in the human world, which a never-failing 
and all-comprehending Providence has made ready 
and suited to its foreseen necessities. In this it 
lives and grows, breathing the atmosphere of hu- 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 517 

man affections, and feeding on human thoughts. 
And how should our souls glow with special grat- 
itude to God, that we have had our birth in a world 
so richly fraught with provisions for the supply of 
all their need ! Above and around us, in the rec- 
ords of the past, in the interests and movements 
of the present, and in the hopes and fears awak- 
ened by the impending future, we have enough to 
call forth all our energies. The manifold exam- 
ples of great and good men in all the departments 
of human action, are held forth to our view, and 
shed down their influences upon us as stars in the 
constellations of the firmament. We inhale an 
atmosphere of domestic and social affections, in- 
vigorated by the free institutions of our fathers, 
and still retaining something at least of the higher 
and healthier tone which it received from their 
Christian spirit. We inherit and may feed upon 
the accumulated treasures of ancient wisdom, and 
we have the language of Shakspeare and Milton 
for our mother tongue. 

By these illustrations, which may seem, I am 
aware, unnecessarily prolonged, I have endeavored 
to render intelligible what was stated as a univer- 
sal law, and to furnish at least the means of better 
understanding its application in the case before us. 
In the last example, especially, which for this rea- 
son has been exhibited so much at length, I have 
aimed to advance the main purpose of the argu- 
ment, by showing that we are endued with powers 
of action, of enjoyment and suffering, which, 
though they have their adequate objects and may 



518 man's need of christ. 

attain their proper end in this world, are yet unde- 
niably of a higher nature than those of our mere 
sensual life, and require, as the outward condition 
of attaining that end, objects in like manner above 
the proper sphere of sense. For the powers 
there exhibited, as constituting the true life of 
man in the relations of human society, pertain not 
to the outward life of the body, but to the inward 
life of consciousness. Conscious feelings and af- 
fections, thoughts and purposes, belonging to the 
inner world, distinguish the refined and cultivated 
member of civil society from the brute or the sav- 
age ; and these have the conditions of their devel- 
opement, not properly in the material objects of 
sense, though it be through the medium of sense 
and especially by the ministry of words, but in 
that which in like manner belongs to, and comes 
forth from, the inner world of humanity ; that 
world of conscious being, that place of understand- 
ing, which, in the language of Job, is hid from the 
eyes of all living, and kept close from the fowls of 
the air. If the true character, and outward relations 
of what has been thus exhibited, be borne in mind, 
it may serve in many ways to aid our conceptions 
of the leading subjects before us. 

With the aid of these illustrations, then, let us 
follow up the inquiry, what is that in the character 
and condition of men, on the ground of which he 
has need of Christ ? What powers are to be un- 
folded, and what wants to be supplied, which are 
not yet provided for by the rich and abundant 
blessings which are thrown around us, as we have 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 519 

seen, in the material world, and in the society of 
our fellow men? The difficulty of answering 
these questions arises chiefly from the fact, that in 
most men the powers and capacities referred to 
are not so fully awakened and called into action 
that they are distinctly conscious of their need. 
Instead of opening their minds to the contempla- 
tion of those higher and ultimate ends which are 
prescribed by the original law of their being, and 
in reference to which the need properly exists, 
they limit their view to those worldly and selfish 
ends which they have proposed, and are striving 
moreover to satisfy the partial cravings of which 
they have become conscious, in the pursuit of an 
inferior and worldly good. They are ignorant of 
what they are, in respect to the highest dignity 
and capacity of their being, and consequently igno- 
rant, both of their wants, and of the appropriate and 
abundant provision which here too is made for 
their supply. But let us endeavor, with all ear- 
nestness, to understand the meaning of our Sa- 
viour, when, disparaging, as it were, those abun- 
dant provisions for the supply of our various wants, 
which we have been contemplating, as well as the 
human pageantry around him, he directs us to him- 
self for the supply of our most urgent need. This, 
indeed, as in regard to our more temporary and 
superficial wants, we cannot do fully, unless our 
minds are awakened to a practical sense of that 
need. Yet, by a reference to those powers and 
capacities of our nature of which I have before 
spoken, and to that which every one will recog- 



520 man's need of christ. 

nize in his own consciousness, we may see that 
w r e have within us a still higher, and, if I may use 
the expression, more inward power, and that this 
too requires its corresponding object, and seeks its 
proper end. Strictly speaking, no man is unaware 
of the power to which I refer. We recognize its 
presence in ourselves, and in our fellow men, as 
paramount to the powers of nature, even of our 
own human nature, and connecting us w 7 ith a 
higher sphere of being. We cannot but be famil- 
iar indeed with its existence, and its essential 
character ; for it is not only the most inward and 
central principle of our consciousness, but mani- 
fests its presence in all the outward relations of 
man. It is only because it is one with our personal 
being, strictly identified with the individual con- 
sciousness of every man, that, like the pulsation of 
our hearts and the unconscious breathing of the 
breath of life, it escapes our notice, and is so diffi- 
cult to be apprehended aright. But however un- 
conscious w T e may be of its inherent necessities, 
and blind to its own proper end, we yield to it 
still in a certain sense the prerogative which it 
claims, and submit all our other powers to its con- 
trol. For it is that in us which is capable of hav- 
ing, and claims to assert, a purpose of its own, in 
distinction from the subject appetites and propen- 
sities of nature, and in distinction, too, from those 
social and intellectual tendencies to which I have 
referred. It is that to which we habitually refer 
and impute the deliberate acts and purposes of a 
man, as the controlling principle within him. It 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 521 

is the man within the man. It is that by virtue 
of which we are capable of self-cultivation, of self- 
knowledge, and self-control. It is, in a word, that 
principle, whatever we may call it, of free, self- 
conscious and personal being, by which man is 
placed in connexion with the spiritual world, and 
has wants which cannot find their appropriate ob- 
jects in the world of sense and in the compass of 
nature. It is that which is properly meant by the 
spirit in man, in distinction from all that pertains 
to his sensual nature and the world of sense. Now 
the point I wish, if possible, to make clear to your 
apprehension, is, that what we here speak of, is 
truly a distinguishable and higher power, in its re- 
lation to those which find their adequate objects in 
the world around us, and requires at the same time, 
according to the meaning of our Saviour and the 
general principle before illustrated, a good out of 
itself, and adapted to its higher wants. The pow- 
ers of our sensual nature, we have seen, have their 
appropriate objects in the material world. The 
appetites of hunger and thirst, by which the wants 
of organic life are manifested, eagerly seek their 
appropriate supply in the objects of sense, and in 
the enjoyment of these rest and are satisfied, as 
with their proper good. So, too, in the higher 
sphere of our natural human affections, and of all 
those powers of human nature which find their 
proper objects in the corresponding powers and 
affections of our fellow-men, the same principle 
holds true. In the confiding intercourse of friends, 
in the free interchange of thought and of social 
66 



522 man's need of christ. 

affections, but especially in the relations of the 
domestic circle, the mind rests and is satisfied, as 
with objects suited to its nature. But what is 
that power, and its true objects and ends, by which, 
in the exercise of a still higher prerogative, we 
control these powers and capacities of our nature, 
and indulge or repress, use or abuse them, at will ? 
Our natural appetites are easily satisfied, and, left 
to the law of their own nature, act in accordance 
with, and rest in, their proper end. But the epi- 
curo pampers and stimulates his appetites, that he 
may make them the instruments of his self-pro- 
posed and capricious enjoyments. The demon of 
ambition sweeps away from its path the affections 
and charities of social and even of domestic life, 
represses the instincts of nature, and makes hu- 
man life itself subordinate to an arbitrary will, 
Nay, for all purposes, of good as well as evil, 
man asserts the authority and control of his per- 
sonal will over the powers and affections of his 
nature. In the strength of its high preroga- 
tive he makes them the obedient ministers of its 
purpose, and subject to its law. He excites and 
urges on the storm of unbridled passions, or arrests 
its course, and says to their warring elements, 
Peace, be still. The strong agonies of nature are 
hushed by his mandate, and the humble Christian 
in the midst of consuming fire can hold its out- 
breaking terrors in quiet submission to his will. 
It was the martyr at the stake who doomed his 
own right hand to the hottest flame, and cried 
with his last breath, as he held it unfaltering there, 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 523 

This hand has offended, this wicked hand has 
offended. 

But this power itself, the man in the energy of 
that personal will which thus imposes its immiti- 
gable law upon a reluctant but subject nature, and 
makes the highest ends of nature subservient to its 
own, what are its ends, and the means of attain- 
ing them ? With what scope and for what pur- 
pose does it employ its higher energies, and those 
subordinate pow r ers which obey its mandate ? Is 
it to seek and find these, in that very sphere of na- 
ture over which it claims such a prerogative ? But 
the ends of nature, with the outward means of at- 
taining them, as they become known in our expe- 
rience and consciousness, are, as we have seen, va- 
rious and manifold. Every distinguishable power 
and affection here has its own appropriate craving, 
and in the fulness of that world which God has so 
amply stored for our use, it finds its distinct and pro- 
per object and consequent gratification. Are the 
ends and the objects of that supernatural power, 
then, identical with these, equally numerous and di- 
verse ? But as a personal and self-conscious pow- 
er, it places itself, as it were, in distinct and indi- 
visible unity, at an equal remove from all these ; 
present, indeed, in a certain and important sense, 
to all, but becoming identical with none. Can we, 
then, as personal beings, choose among the endless 
solicitations and propensities of nature, and arbi- 
trarily make to ourselves an end which we can 
steadfastly pursue ? And will this be our true, our 
destined and ultimate end ? Or can we attain our 



524 



own proper end, through the appointed means, hy 
yielding to every solicitation of natural appetite, 
and thus losing ourselves in the infinite dispersion 
and manifoldness of nature ? 

These questions are forced upon us by what we 
see of the actual condition and conduct of man. 
For, turning away from the one only true and ulti- 
mate end to which he was destined, and in which 
alone the powers of his spiritual and personal be- 
ing can rest, he seeks his changing and inconstant 
purposes, and strives to find an end that may sat- 
isfy him, among the appetites, the passions and 
propensities of his nature. Disappointed in his 
search, in perpetual disquiet and vexation of spirit, 
and changing his self-proposed ends with the ever- 
varying solicitations of appetite and passion, he re- 
mains fixed to no end ; and if he were, it is still 
w 7 ithin the sphere of his lower nature, and his 
spirit is in bondage to its law. Thus estranged 
from his true end, and blind or indifferent, as he 
must be, to that spiritual good which is the out- 
ward condition of its attainment, he regards and 
pursues only that which is fitted to satisfy the in- 
ferior wants, and minister to the sensual or at most 
to the social gratifications of nature. These he 
covets and accumulates with ceaseless anxiety. 
Still restless and unsatisfied, he still cherishes his 
delusion, and strives to satiate the inward cravings 
of his soul for a higher and enduring good, with 
the fleeting phantoms of sense, and the unsubstan- 
tial possessions and enjoyments of that world, the 
fashion whereof passeth away. 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 525 

But neither in the ends nor objects of the natu- 
ral world can the spirit of man rest. Though fallen 
from a right apprehension and pursuit of its true 
end, and too often unconscious and consequently 
undesirous of that which constitutes its appropri- 
ate good, it yet finds by experience, that what it 
actually seeks, falls short of its aspirations ; and 
that no finite and worldly good can fill the com- 
pass of its desires. How should it indeed be oth- 
erwise ? The inherent tendencies and wants of 
animal life are not satisfied, nor do its powers find 
their appropriate objects and sphere of action, in 
the obscure form of vegetable life, to which, in the 
first months of its existence, it is limited. It must 
open its eyes to the light, and its ears to the mu- 
sic of sounds. It must expand its own lungs to 
the vital air, reach forth its hands to that which 
its eye sees, and walk abroad in this world of 
sense. Neither, as we have already seen, can the 
powers of that higher life by which our human 
nature is distinguished from that of the brute, find 
their proper objects and the conditions of their ex- 
istence in the mere life of sense. They seek in 
the higher sphere of humanity the objects which 
correspond to their own nature, and in and by these 
they live and attain their predestined ends. Equally 
impossible is it that the spiritual power of which 
we are speaking should find its needed good and 
attain its proper end in a sphere below itself, or in 
the whole compass of the life of nature. It has 
its own distinct and proper end, which no capri- 
cious and arbitrary purpose of its own can ever 



526 



change, fixed by a law which it cannot annul. In 
the inward principle of its being, it is essentially 
above the powers of our animal nature ; and the 
end towards which it is borne, is equally above and 
beyond the sphere of our worldly life. How then 
can it gain that end, and find the rest and happi- 
ness, which, by a law of inward necessity, it still 
seeks, while grovelling in a lower sphere, groping 
for light in the thick darkness, and hunting through 
the realms of nature for that which shall give rest 
to the spirit ? The depth saith, it is not in me ; 
and the sea saith, it is not with me. It cannot be 
gotten for gold, neither shall silver be weighed for 
the price thereof. 

There pertains, then, to the soul of man, a spir- 
itual power and essence, which transcends the 
powers of our inferior nature, having its own dis- 
tinct and necessary end ; and that end cannot be 
attained within the sphere of sense, nor by means 
of those outward objects which are the conditions 
of our natural and worldly life. In turning away 
from nature, then, and distinguishing itself from 
those inferior powers which seek in the objects of 
this world the conditions of their existence, can it 
find in itself that which it needs for the attainment 
of its end ? Can it place itself, in the confidence 
of stoic pride, aloof from nature, and claim to have 
in the resources of its own inward being a self- 
sufficing good ? In the strength of its own self- 
reliance, can it exclude and repel the sense of all 
outward dependence, and attain its end by its 
own self-productive and unnourished energies ? 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 527 

To these questions, reason and experience, so 
far as our conscious experience can reach the case, 
give the same answer. Though we may be un- 
conscious of our need, as the brutified savage is 
ignorant of any wants but those of his physical ex- 
istence, there is yet a need there, without the sup- 
ply of which the life of the spirit is but a living 
death, a mere negation of its true spiritual life. 
It is a ceaseless hungering and thirsting, an aching 
void, a hollow depth of inward poverty and want, 
which only its own suitable and infinite good can 
supply. For what we need, must be an adequate 
and suitable good. It must be that which has a 
specific relation to our inward necessities, and to 
our proper and ultimate end. And how imperative, 
whether we know it or not, how inseparable from 
the inward law of our spiritual being, is that ne- 
cessity, which commands us to go out of ourselves, 
to forsake the resources of our own strength, to 
deny the pride and self-reliance of our own self- 
wills, and to seek the conditions of blessedness in 
that which is more and higher than man ! Thus, 
in accordance with the universal law before illus- 
trated, the finite spirit of man, like all other finite 
and creaturely existences, is insufficient of itself 
for its own end. According to the distinctive char- 
acter of its inward being, it needs, and must have, 
that which is suited to call forth and feed with 
food convenient for it, its powers of spiritual life. 
For, as the life of sense does not truly exist, till 
we breathe the air and behold the light of this 
world of sense, and as we have the empty capacity, 



528 man's need of christ. 

but not the actual possession and enjoyment of our 
higher social and human affections, without the 
surrounding aspects and influences of humanity, so 
till we are raised above the life of nature, till we 
are awakened to a higher life by the objects of 
that spiritual world to which we properly belong, 
and by which in our inward consciousness we find 
ourselves forever environed, we have only the 
capacity, not the possession, of true spiritual life. 
For what is the mere naked and arbitrary will of 
man, uninspired and unarmed with inward and 
spiritual strength, however terrific it may be by the 
accidental possession and control of vast physical 
power ? It may, indeed, for the time, and so long 
as its physical resources continue, excite the won- 
der and admiration of those who look only at the 
world of sense ; but it has no inward life, no true 
spiritual vigor, no enduring power, and accom- 
plishes nothing that can endure. The will and 
the cherished purposes of the most powerful and 
crafty of despots, so far as they are unsustained 
by a higher principle of abiding truth and right- 
eousness, can be effective only for a limited time 
and to the extent of his physical arm. Strip him 
of his outward physical force, and in that very day 
his thoughts perish. Thus the true life and power 
of the spirit must be an inward life and power ; 
and to attain this, it must be fed and nourished 
with appropriate food, must breathe the air and 
walk in the light of the spiritual world. As our 
human affections are developed and strengthened 
by that which is human, so the life of the spirit is 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 529 

nourished and sustained by that alone which is 
spiritual. Here, then, is the inward ground of 
that need to which our Saviour refers, when he in- 
vites us to come unto him and receive the waters 
of life. 

But however clearly we may be convinced of 
our need, the question may still very naturally 
arise, Why should we go to Christ for its supply ? 
What is there in the distiuctive character of the 
wants of our spiritual being, so far as they are in- 
dicated in our conscious experience, that should 
lead us to expect in and from him a corresponding 
good ? These questions find indeed a partial an- 
swer, yet one, for the most part, of only a nega- 
tive character, in the views already presented. 
What more distinct indications do we find in our 
inward experience, to determine the specific char- 
acter P of our wants ? Here, again, it is obvious 
that only in proportion as we are excited to earn- 
est reflection, and to a full and practical sense of 
our need as a matter of our own experience, can 
we be made to understand clearly what it is, or 
what Christ is as suited for its supply. Yet there 
are facts in the consciousness of all men, abun- 
dantly sufficient to make known to them their ne- 
cessities, and to guide them to Christ. The law, 
says St. Paul, is our schoolmaster to bring us to 
Christ ; and the same apostle asserts that all men 
have a knowledge of that law. The law revealed 
in the conscience of every man, is for us the ne- 
cessary condition of all spiritual knowledge. How 
much, too, of spiritual truth, and of what infinite 
67 



530 man's need of christ. 

moment for us, is manifested in the simple fact of 
conscience ; so simple, yet so central and so full of 
light ! By it we know ourselves, and in its au- 
thoritative law we have the essential and immuta- 
ble law of our own spiritual being, and that which 
prescribes its true and ultimate end. What is it 
but this law, consciously revealed in the soul of 
every man, that makes for us the absolute and im- 
mutable distinction between right and wrong, and 
commands us to do right, to obey the truth, to 
love holiness ? But to come nearer the point at 
which I was aiming, it is undeniable, and a truth 
of highest import, that the consciousness of a holy 
and perfect law, in proportion as it is reflected 
upon and becomes practically efficient in our minds, 
fills them at the same time with apprehensions of 
God, and an inalienable conviction of his exist- 
ence, as a just, a righteous and holy God. It 
opens, as it were, the eye of the soul to behold 
the light of the spiritual world, and directs it to 
the contemplation of God as the Sun of that world, 
the eternal centre and source of its light. Thus, 
in prescribing the law of our spiritual being, and 
in it the ultimate end for the attainment of which 
it imperatively commands us to strive, the con- 
science directs us to God. For what is our end, 
as prescribed by the law of conscience, but to be 
Godlike ? Thus the ideas of a holy God, and of 
our own duty and end, are inseparable from each 
other ; and it is the first and great commandment, 
that we love the Lord our God with all our hearts, 
with all our souls, and with all our mind. There 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 531 

is and can be no higher or holier law than this. 
To contradict this law, to resist that in which our 
inmost^ consciousness reveals and affirms itself as 
absolutely and immutably good, is sin, is spiritual 
evil. A sense of our imperative obligation, there- 
fore, to obey and to fulfil this law of righteousness, 
to realize in our own personal and spiritual being 
that truth and holiness which we contemplate as 
the glory and perfection of God, points us to our 
true end, and is intimately connected with our need 
of Christ. 

But let me remark again, as another fact, al- 
ready contained in what was before said, but more 
practically revealed in our consciousness, that the 
light of conscience makes known to us our own 
character as sinners. For in turning ourselves 
away from our true end, and subjecting our spirit- 
ual being to the law of our sensual nature and to 
the w T orld of sense, as was represented, we have 
estranged ourselves from God, and live in the vio- 
lation of his law. The law commands us, and 
enforces its authority with fearful forebodings, to 
love God, and to serve him in spirit and in truth. 
But our hearts are by nature averse to God, and 
choose none of his ways. Thus we find ourselves 
at the same time responsible to God, and violators 
of his law. We find ourselves guilty and misera- 
ble sinners, estranged from God, and in need of 
reconciliation to him. This we learn by the law ; 
but neither that law nor the devices of our own 
hearts can justify us to our consciences, or in the 
sight of God. We are in bondage to the world, 



532 man's need of christ. 

enslaved to the law and service of our inferior na- 
tures. We need to be delivered from that thral- 
dom, that we may freely obey the inward law of 
the spirit. We are without true spiritual life, our 
eyes not yet opened to a direct beholding of the 
things of the spirit. We need the quickening of 
a spiritual power, we need the bread and the water 
of spiritual life, that our souls may live. And what 
is that which can thus nourish and promote the 
growth of our spiritual life, but that to which our 
spiritual being is preconformed ? What is it but 
manifested truth and righteousness ; that which 
has in it the power and the life of the spirit ? This 
it is, inwrought and received, as the inwardly 
nourishing and sustaining power and life of our 
personal being, that can alone satisfy our wants, 
make us at peace with ourselves, and reconcile us 
unto God. By contemplating these particulars in 
respect to the nature of our wants, we may under- 
stand, in some measure, what objects are suited 
for their supply, and appreciate the blessings that 
are proffered in Christ. 

Once more I remark in this connexion, that as 
our needful good, and the condition of spiritual 
life in our souls, we require, in the object of our 
spiritual intercourse and contemplation, a personal 
being. If, in relation to our human affections, as 
pertaining to social existence, it is the expression 
of self-conscious and personal intelligence, and of 
moral qualities as connected with a personal will, 
which essentially fixes our regard and nourishes 
our human powers and affections, much more, in 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 533 

the highest concentration of our spiritual energies 
upon their highest object, must that object be per- 
sonal. It is the inalienable law of conscience, that 
we love God with all the heart, and soul, and mind. 
It is the first and great commandment. Has he 
then no heart ? Has he no personal and self-con- 
scious existence ? If not, then is prayer but a 
rnockery, and conscience a dream. But we are 
told that truth, and goodness, and holiness, are the 
objects of love ; and by the contemplation of these, 
we are to be nourished and attain the end of our 
being. What then are these, and how are they 
possible objects of contemplation and love, except 
as pertaining to the personality of Him that is true, 
of Him that is good, and of Him who alone is 
holy ? Can we pour out our supreme affections, 
and pay the devout homage of our hearts, to a 
homeless abstraction ? Can our souls cleave with 
inward affection to a law of central forces, and love 
the power of gravity ? Shall we, then, seek these 
objects of devout and religious contemplation in 
our own personal being, and in that of our fellow- 
men ? Alas ! could we but find them there, and 
not rather a lie in their stead. Away, then, with 
the hollow and profane delusions of Atheism, and 
let us, with St. Paul, love, and worship, and adore 
the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. 

But these views are designed more especially to 
demonstrate our need of Christ, according to the 
second and less obvious meaning which I ascribed 
to his language in the text. Would that I could 
awaken that actual sense of need, and that con- 



534 man's need of christ. 

scious longing and thirsting for the waters of life, 
to which his gracious invitation had a more direct 
reference. Except as it awakens the mind to re- 
flection, and so leads to this, all speculative truth 
in religion is indeed but an empty show, and all 
preaching vain. In what I have said in the pre- 
vious parts of this discourse, I have endeavored to 
show, that the earnest and loud cry of our Saviour, 
as he stood upon the threshold of that temple, and 
in the ears of that vast multitude, was not without 
cause. I have endeavored to make it evident, on 
no superficial grounds of conviction, that he who 
thus claimed the attention of men, knew what was 
in man. I have aimed to render in some degree 
intelligible, the inward ground and reality, and 
something of the character of those wants which 
should lead us to Christ, as the truth and the life, 
as the suitable and adequate good for their supply. 
But it is, after all, chiefly by looking into your own 
hearts, by listening to the voice of your own con- 
sciences, and turning your eyes to the light of 
spiritual truth, which is always radiant there, that 
you are to know, and understand, and receive the 
truth, so as to be benefitted thereby. There, if 
you are faithful with your own souls, and banish 
all false delusions from your minds, you will find, 
that you are truly in need of Christ. You will be 
conscious of the hungering and thirsting of your 
inmost spirit after that spiritual good, which alone 
can fill the capacious void. You will there learn 
more than all books can teach you v of that root of 
bitterness in the heart, which the divine power of 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 535 

Christ alone can extract ; of that disease of the 
will, which he alone can heal. It is only there 
that you can fully know, and there only by slow 
degrees, the depths of your guilt and alienation 
from God ; that you can truly understand the rela- 
tion to your crying necessities of that glorious pro- 
vision which is made for their supply, and be 
awakened to any due sense of grateful acknowl- 
edgement, that the same God whose hand supplies 
the daily and hourly wants of our bodies, and 
whose higher care has surrounded us with provis- 
ions for the larger capacities of our nature, has 
here too appeared in the highest manifestation of 
his love, to deliver our souls from death. Would 
that we might all so feel and understand our own 
lost and ruined condition, the depth and the char- 
acter of our poverty and want, as to adore that 
love which passeth knowledge, and rightly to ap- 
preciate and desire the riches of the glory of that 
inheritance which is laid up in Christ for all them 
that believe. And let us remember that this will 
soon be not only our chiefest, but our only want. 
These eyes will soon cease to require the light of 
the sun, and the vital air will be nothing to us. 
Nay, the higher wants of our human nature, those 
connecting us with our fellow men, by the noblest 
and the strongest ties of mere human affection, 
must cease, and their objects no longer be sought. 
For, in the expressive language of the apostle, 
This I say, brethren, the time is short. It remain- 
ed!, that both they that have wives, be as though 
they had none ; and they that weep, as though 



536 man's need of christ. 

they wept not ; and they that rejoice, as though 
they rejoiced not ; and they that buy, as though 
they possessed not ; and they that use this world, 
as not abusing it ; for the fashion of this world 
passeth away. But when shall we cease to need 
those objects which are connected with the attain- 
ment of our highest and ultimate end, as spiritual 
and personal beings ? When will the inward eye 
of the soul cease to require the presence of Him 
who is the light of the spiritual world ? All those 
powers that properly belong to our nature, have 
their growth and decay, their highest point of de- 
velopement, their revolving periods, and their ap- 
pointed bounds, which they cannot pass. But 
what periods are determined, and what bounds are 
appointed, in the possible existence of that super- 
natural and self-conscious being in respect to 
which we are said to be made in the image and 
after the likeness of God ? Who shall assign lim- 
its to the capacity for its appropriate good, and the 
need of its continual supply, or to the destined en- 
largement and expansion of that soul whose 
thoughts not only wander through, but essay to 
grasp and comprehend immensity and eternity, and 
whose desires can be filled with nothing less than 
God? 

How happy, then, yea, how blessed of God are 
they, who, awakened from the lethargy of sense, 
to a consciousness of what they are, and of what 
they need, and quickened to spiritual life, have 
sought for and have found an adequate spiritual 
good, and suited to their now conscious desires ! 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 537 

It is then only, indeed, according to the language 
of the apostle, that we can know the things that 
are freely given to us of God, when we have re- 
ceived the spirit which is of God. It is only by 
the power of a higher spiritual principle of life 
within, that we can either rightly apprehend, or 
truly desire and appropriate to ourselves, the abun- 
dant spiritual blessings which are so freely proffer- 
ed for our acceptance. But those in whom this 
power is awakened as an actual living power in 
the soul, necessarily desire and seek for and re- 
cognize its corresponding good. Where spiritual 
life exists, in other words, there is a consequent 
hungering and thirsting for spiritual food. There, 
too, is a just and true apprehension of those ob- 
jects that correspond to our spiritual wants, as 
suited to nourish and unfold the powers of spiritual 
life, as being indeed the highest and only absolute 
good. The natural man receiveth not the things 
of the Spirit of God, neither can he know them ; 
but he that is spiritual, judgeth all things, and has 
his senses exercised to discern both good and evil. 
Thus, with appropriate agencies inseparable from 
the existence of spiritual life in the soul, those who 
are born of God open the eye of faith to appre- 
hend the objects of the spiritual world, and not 
only need, but consciously desire and long for spir- 
itual good, as the proper nourishment of that in- 
ward life. To satisfy its cravings, no sensual or 
worldly good can suffice. Nor is it the mere 
vague desire of happiness, which is inseparable 
from all conscious existence, that distinguishes 
68 



538 man's need of christ. 

them. They seek for truth as their proper object, 
as the eye seeks for the light of the sun. They 
hunger and thirst after righteousness, as having 
the same relation to the inward life of the spirit, 
which bread holds to the outward life of the body. 
As the powers of spiritual life also transcend, in 
their essential character and destiny, the powers 
of our natural life, so should the desires which 
grow out of them and the conscious necessity of 
attaining the proper objects of those desires be 
more intense and prevalent than all the cravings 
of our inferior nature. Thus it would seem but a 
matter of necessity that in the awakened con- 
sciousness of spiritual life, the soul should cleave 
to the things that are spiritual, whatever other 
objects of desire might be torn from its grasp. It 
cannot but desire and strive for the possession of 
these, with more earnestness of purpose than for 
all that pertains to the sphere of our worldly life. 
In the awakened energy of that higher principle 
which cometh from above, and is now received as 
the inward principle of its life, it breaks through, 
as it were, and dissipates the forms which pertain 
to the outward life of sense, dissolves or trans- 
forms into its own image and likeness all the bonds 
of natural interest and affection, and with the eye 
of faith still contemplating its appropriate objects, 
desires and pursues them as of paramount and in- 
dispensable necessity. These it must have, though 
to attain them it should encounter evils from 
which all the powers of our nature shrink with 
amazement and terror. These it must have, though 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 539 

it deny father and mother and wife and children ; 
though not merely a right hand and a right eye 
should be sacrificed, but the body be doomed to the 
rage of wild beasts or to the consuming flame. And 
these are the objects of desire, for the attainment of 
which Christ invites us to himself in the language 
of the text : If any man thirst, let him come unto 
me and drink. He that cometh unto me shall 
never hunger, and he that believeth on me shall 
never thirst. 

3. With these views of the grounds of our re- 
lation to Christ, as they exist in the inherent char- 
acter and condition of man, and of the specific in- 
dications of our need which manifest themselves 
in the different states of our inward life and con- 
sciousness, I proceed, as was proposed in the third 
place, to consider more directly what Christ is, as 
corresponding to that relation and suited to our 
spiritual wants. To this we are directly led by 
the terms of his invitation as already explained. 
For he not only refers to our need of a higher and 
spiritual good, but directs us to himself for its at- 
tainment. He proffers himself as a fountain of 
living waters, able to quench that thirst which the 
waters of Siloa could not allay. He claims to 
possess and hold forth for our acceptance, provis- 
ions for that spiritual need which we have been 
contemplating, and for which, as we have seen, the 
realms of nature furnish no adequate or appropri- 
ate supply. If, then, that need be such and so 
great as 1 have endeavored to show it, we may 
well inquire, with all earnestness, who and what is 



540 man's need of christ. 

Christ, his hidden treasures of wisdom and knowl- 
edge, and the resources of his power, that he 
should thus direct us to himself, and that we should 
trust in and obey his word ? What are the attri- 
butes of his character, and under what form are 
they manifested to meet the essential and univer- 
sal wants of our spiritual being ? What is he rel- 
atively to our wants as fallen beings, as sinners 
under bondage to the law of nature and in a state 
of spiritual death ? By what mysterious and re- 
generating power of divine love working in Christ, 
are we to be renewed and reconciled to God ? 
And again, for those who are born of the Spirit, 
and by faith brought into spiritual communion with 
Christ, what are the provisions to be found in him 
that they may grow in grace, and that in their 
creaturely dependence and conscious insufficiency 
of themselves for the attainment of their prescribed 
end, he may become the substance of their spirit- 
ual strength, the bread of life to their souls ? 

In answering these questions, I shall aim, as the 
general method of the discourse requires, to show 
what Christ is, simply with reference to those 
wants, the inherent grounds of which I have al- 
ready exhibited* It is only, indeed, in their im- 
mediate and specific relation to each other, that 
the objects corresponding to those wants, or even 
the wants themselves, can be distinctly and truly 
known. For as we could not know the distinc- 
tive character of the wants that pertain to the fac- 
ulties and organs of respiration and of seeing, nor 
the nature of air and light as the outward condi- 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 541 

tions of their exercise and the objects correspond- 
ing to those wants, otherwise than by the experi- 
ence of their specific relations to each other, so 
here we can have a distinct knowledge of the 
wants that pertain to our inmost spiritual being, 
and of Christ as the object corresponding to those 
wants, only in their immediate and experienced 
relations to each other as manifested within the 
sphere of our consciousness. They are what they 
are, as objects of knowledge and of interest for 
us, by virtue of those relations. In showing what 
Christ is, therefore, in relation to our spiritual 
wants, as we may recognize his presence in differ- 
ent states of our inward consciousness, the nature 
of our wants also will be made more distinct than 
when separately considered. 

In the first place, then, I remark, that in the 
earliest dawn of our self-consciousness, or of our 
existence as spiritual beings, and at every stage in 
the developement of our spiritual powers, we find 
ourselves in connexion with a spiritual world, and 
the manifested presence in our consciousness of 
that which has a necessary relation to our own 
spirits. That in us by which we are raised above 
the blind mechanism of instinct and made capable 
of a conscious purpose of free and responsible ac- 
tion, truly exists, indeed, in its distinctive and pro- 
per character, no otherwise than as that spiritual 
presence which is the outward condition of its self- 
conscious agency, is manifested to and exists for 
it. In other words, as the faculty of sight can act, 
and as we can know that we possess it, only with 



542 man's need of christ. 

the presence of its proper medium, so it is with 
our spiritual powers. As all men, too, in all con- 
ditions of their existence, are still spiritual and ac- 
countable beings, so to all is vouchsafed the pres- 
ence of that which is spiritual. That God, who, 
as we have seen, has so richly provided for all our 
natural wants, and who styles himself, in a pecu- 
liar sense, the Father of spirits, could not desert 
us in our highest need ; nor has he failed to pro- 
vide and to manifest in the consciousness of all 
men, that which constitutes their highest good. 
On his part is the same infinite freeness and ful- 
ness in providing, always and for all, that which 
corresponds to our spiritual need, as in satisfying 
our inferior wants. If we fail to recognize its 
presence and to rejoice in it as the light and life of 
our souls, we show thereby but the debasement 
and perverseness of our own wills. That of which 
I speak as the gift of God and having a specific 
relation to our spiritual being, is still there in all 
its fulness and in all its glory, and manifests itself 
to us as we turn ourselves to it. It is still there, 
a living presence, unchangeable, while all things 
change ; and the more we open our minds to re- 
ceive it, the more does it impart to us of that ful- 
ness which is sufficient for all and overfloweth. 
The more we think of it, too, the more do we find 
it to possess a reality out of ourselves and above 
ourselves, yet inseparable from our own permanent 
being. 

What I have thus described, every man, who is 
not wholly void of reflection, will recognize as 



' man's NEED OF CHRIST. 543 

present to his own consciousness in that of which 
I have before spoken, as the manifested light and 
law of conscience. We cannot but find it in that 
presence of immutable truth, which, though we 
may hold it in unrighteousness, still makes known 
to us its existence, and reveals in our conscious- 
ness, at the same time, its rectitude, and the per- 
verseness of our wills, its purity and holiness, and 
our inward pollution. And what, then, is the pres- 
ence which we thus recognize, but the spiritual 
provision which God has made and manifested to 
our inward consciousness, corresponding to the 
essential character, and suited to the inherent and 
essential wants, of our finite spirits ? What is 
it, but that true light, which lighteth every 
man that cometh into the world ? What is it, 
but the necessary form in which God manifests 
himself to the spiritual intuition of his rational 
creatures, as the proper and only adequate object 
of desire and love ; as that towards which our 
souls should turn with unceasing joy, as the eye 
turns to the light of the sun ? Can we regard it 
otherwise than as that divine Word, which was in 
the beginning, and by which has still been ut- 
tered in the consciousness of every human soul, 
the absolute and unchangeable truth of God ? Why 
should we not regard it as that first-born of the 
Father of spirits, wherein is manifested, from eter- 
nity, the perfection of his own glory ; and which 
again, to as many as receive it, communicates of 
the riches of that glory, according to their capacity 
and their need ? So, and so only, can we represent 



544 man's need of christ. 

to our minds the universal and necessary relation 
subsisting between our spiritual being and its cor- 
responding and appropriate good. For that good 
is the ultimate, the highest and absolute good of 
our souls, and nothing less than God. So only can 
we adequately and truly represent it, whether we 
look to the immediate testimony of our own con- 
sciousness, or to the highest efforts and attainments 
of speculative wisdom, or to the revealed word of 
God. 

Thus we find, as it were, for the original and 
essential being and relations of our finite spirits, 
their own appropriate and glorious provision for 
the attainment of their proper end. The same 
God who has provided the various powers and ca- 
pacities of our animal life with a convenient good, 
and surrounded us with objects corresponding to 
our human affections, has here too, in the sphere 
of our personal and self-conscious being, manifest- 
ed that light of divine truth, that power of the di- 
vine w T ord, that law of righteousness and true holi- 
ness, which are, for it, both the means and the 
end, the way, the truth, and the life. These, for 
every soul of man, as manifested in our inward 
consciousness, and proffered for our reception, that 
we may grow thereby to spiritual strength, are 
free as the air we breathe, more free and more 
universal than the light of the sun. As the nat- 
ural eye, too, by which we look abroad upon the 
world of sense, is no sooner opened than it is filled 
with light, and sees all things illuminated with its 
beams, so that higher power of vision by which we 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 545 

contemplate a self-conscious purpose, and direct 
our minds to the accomplishment of an end, and 
act with reference to the absent and the future, by 
which we look into the vastness of infinity, and 
embrace, in its wide compass and far-reaching 
scope, what no finite boundaries can limit nor re- 
volving periods terminate, this power too has its 
light, the light of the spiritual world ; and if only 
its eye be single, sees it appropriate objects and 
is guided to its proper ends, by the clear illumina- 
tions of truth and righteousness. Thus should 
we walk in the light of distinct consciousness, 
obeying with rejoicing hearts that divine Word, 
that righteous and holy law which guides us to 
our true end, which constitutes the true and essen- 
tial law of our own spiritual being, and fills our 
souls with their proper and all-sufficient good. If, 
then, in view of these remarks, the question be 
now asked, what is Christ in relation to the origi- 
nal and inherent wants of our being as simply 
spiritual and finite ? the answer is, that the same 
manifestation of the divine being, which, according 
to the Gospel of John, was in the beginning with 
God ; the same Word which was made flesh and 
dwelt among us, was, even from the beginning, as 
manifested in the consciousness of all men, the 
corresponding object, the appropriate good of our 
personal being, and the outward condition for the 
attainment of our proper end. 

But it is only in the original purity and integri- 
ty of our spiritual being, that the soul of man could 
be represented as turning, of itself, towards what 
69 



546 man's need of christ. 

is, thus provided for it, and desiring it as its appro- 
priate good. It is only the uncorrupted will, that 
whose inward principle and law of action is iden- 
tical with the divine will, which thus, in its own 
original agency, chooses God for its portion and 
acts in conformity with his law. Nor without 
that integrity and uncorruptness of our own spirit- 
ual being, can we conceive the manifestations of 
the divine nature to our consciousness to appear 
to us in their true character and in the fulness of 
their own glory. How little indeed can we un- 
derstand what would be our intercourse with God, 
were there no obstruction on our part to his com- 
munications of himself? If, with all our souls, in 
the simplicity and integrity of that power by which 
we are made capable of apprehending and receiv- 
ing the things of God, we turned ourselves to that 
of which I have spoken, as still manifesting some- 
thing of his glory to the inward consciousness of 
man, how quickly would it degrade in our minds 
all the impressions of sense, and the sun itself be 
darkened by the brightness of its everlasting light ! 
Were our minds but freely expanded to receive 
them, as the opening flower expands its leaves to the 
light and air, what boundless communications of 
wisdom and knowledge, of goodness and truth, of 
light and life and love, would perpetually flow in 
upon us ! For to what end were we formed in 
the image of God, and capable of spiritual good, 
but that he might freely pour forth the treasures 
of his goodness for our supply ? How, then, would 
our souls be filled with the manifestation of his 



mam's NEED OF CHRIST. 547 

presence, and at once overwhelmed and upborne 
with a sense of his all-pervading and all-sustaining 
power. For if it be indeed true that in him we 
live and move and have our being, what needs 
there but to take away the veil from our inward 
eye, that we may see and know how near we are 
to God ? How infinite his condescension, how 
boundless his love to the creatures of his power, 
we may see indeed imperfectly by the eye of sense. 
But it is only in the immediate manifestation of 
his spiritual perfections, as recognized and con- 
templated in our self-conscious and spiritual intui- 
tions, that we can truly know what God is, and be 
prepared rightly to apprehend the invisible things 
of God in the order, beauty and harmony of the 
material world. In the immediate and free spirit- 
ual intercourse with that Word which was life, and 
whose life was the light of man, for which we were 
formed, how clear then would be our apprehension 
of its living power and presence in our own souls, 
and in the outward and visible world, as that by 
which all things consist ! How freely to us would 
its informing and sustaining power and life be im- 
parted, awakening, exalting and strengthening all 
the spiritual and vital energies of our souls, and 
thus securing the attainment of our highest end 
in the enjoyment of our only adequate good. 

But such, though the original and rightful, is 
not the actual relation between the powers of our 
spiritual being and that inward manifestation of 
God and the things of God which are its proper 
objects. We have the evidence in ourselves that 



548 man's weed of christ. 

we are fallen beings. We know that we do not 
in singleness of heart turn ourselves to the light of 
divine truth, follow its guidance with implicit faith, 
and long for its greater illuminations. We do not 
delight in the voice of the divine Word, which re- 
veals in our awakened consciousness that holy law 
and will of God which we should receive as the 
rightful law and the true life of our own souls. 
We turn ourselves away from these, call in ques- 
tion their authority, and disobey their injunctions. 
We trust rather to the impulses and tendencies of 
our inferior natures., We confide in the experi- 
ences of sense, rely upon the unstable judgments 
and limited views of our own understandings, and 
thus seek our ultimate end and highest good in the 
world of sense and in obedience to the law of our 
inferior nature. Hence we are said to hold the 
truth in unrighteousness. That true light which 
lighteth every man, we are told, was in the world, 
and the world was made by him, and the world 
knew him not. He came to his own, and his own 
received him not. Hence, too, that divine word 
revealed in our consciences, which should be at the 
same time the inward and living principle of our 
own wills, has come to be for us an outward and 
constraining law, to which our natural wills are 
averse, and thus evidence their own corruption. 
Thus the commandment which was ordained to 
life, is found to be unto death. We recognize that 
law which commands our obedience, as holy and 
just and good ; but w r e are fallen from a right con- 
formity to it, and find another law in our members^ 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 549 

by which our personal wills are controlled and 
placed in opposition to its holy and divine requisi- 
tions. We are estranged from a true confidence 
in the manifested truth of God, and cleave to the 
idols which our evil hearts of unbelief and our 
self-confident but foolish and darkened understand- 
ings have substituted in its place. So blinded, in- 
deed, does the mind of the natural man become, 
and so absorbed in those ohjectsand pursuits which 
lead him away from the light of spiritual truth, 
that he denies its reality, or regards it with aver- 
sion as false and delusive. His eye is evil, and 
the whole body is full of darkness. His will, his 
spiritual powers, are become apostate from God, 
and have turned away from that gift of God which 
is their proper good, and so have fallen into the 
darkness of this world. Thus he is in bondage to 
the law of sin, and his carnal mind is at enmity 
with God. He is doomed by his own apostasy 
and the perverseness of his evil will, to seek the 
substance in the shadow, and to feed on ashes. 
But while thus alienated from God, and lost to all 
true desire and enjoyment of spiritual good, he 
still retains and cannot change his essential relation 
to God. As a spiritual being, he can find no true 
rest or satisfaction but in a conformity to Him, 
and in the reception of those divine manifestations 
by which his own soul is filled with the light of 
truth, with righteousness and true holiness. But 
even when fully awakened to a consciousness of 
his debasement, his guilt and misery, he yet knows 
not nor can he apply the remedy to his deep and 



550 man's need of christ. 

fatal disease. He cannot restore the ruins of sin, 
nor by his own strength nor skill recover the good 
which he has lost. That divine light which should 
have guided him, that friendly voice that said to 
him, This is the way, walk in it, now serve but to 
make known the height from which he has fallen, 
and to fill him with self-reproach and remorse. 
That light reveals to him the truth of the un- 
changeable God ; but his heart is deceitful, and 
there is no truth in it. That voice proclaims to 
him the holy and spiritual law of God ; but he is 
carnal, and sold under sin. Though he has some 
right views of what he needs and of what he ought 
to be, and in his better judgment approves the law 
of God, he still finds another law in his members, 
bringing him into captivity to the law of sin. 
Helpless, therefore, and conscious at the same time 
that the law of truth and of righteousness de- 
mands imperatively a right inward principle of 
spiritual obedience, and that all his doings originate 
in the evil principle of his own natural will, aim- 
ing at no higher than merely selfish ends, he can 
but despair of any obedience which he can render 
in his own strength. He feels . that he is indeed 
a sinner, not in respect to the accidents and out- 
ward circumstances of his character and condition, 
but in respect to that out of which, as their origi- 
nal source, his responsible actions flow. He finds 
the need of help to effect a change, not in his cir- 
cumstances, but in himself. He wants not new 
appetites, not new instincts or passions, not strict- 
ly a new nature, but a new principle of action in 






man's NEED OF CHRIST. 551 

his personal will, by which to control and direct 
the powers and propensities of his nature to their 
rightful end. These he now governs more or less 
adequately. But from what principle, and to what 
end ? Reflection now teaches him that it is from 
a principle not in accordance with the original and 
inherent requisitions of his personal being, but bor- 
rowed from that nature itself, and limited by its 
conditions. He finds that the end at which he 
aims, consequently, and by which all his purposes 
and desires and efforts are limited as ultimate and 
inclusive of all subordinate ends and aims, is that 
which his individual nature prescribes, and so a 
limited and selfish end. But that divine manifes- 
tation of truth and righteousness, which he ought 
to have pursued, as at the same time his proper 
good and his highest end, and which has now be- 
come an accusing and menacing law of conscience, 
enforces the sentence of condemnation upon this 
debasement of himself. By its light, he sees and 
knows that in thus making himself and his individ- 
ual interest his ultimate end, he is degrading that 
power of his personal being which is essentially 
universal in its character and aims, to the sphere 
of that which is individual and finite. He sees 
that instead of pursuing whatsoever things are 
true, whatsoever things are honest, pure, and love- 
ly, with a free spirit, he has imposed always the 
limiting and servile condition of self-interest, and 
that his spirit is in bondage to its law. Truth, as 
manifested in the conscience, the proper law of the 
spirit, the law of freedom, requires him to love 



552 man's need of christ. 

God supremely, as the only absolute good, and in 
subordination to that, his fellow men as himself. 
But in looking into his own heart, and the inward 
spring of action there, he cannot but see that the 
same evil principle limits and pollutes his regard, 
not only for his fellow men, but for God, for his 
truth, his holiness, and his glory. He is now con- 
vinced that under the dominion of that principle, 
he has set up himself in the place of God ; that 
he has made his own selfish interests paramount to 
the interests of truth and righteousness. That 
holiest and most imperative law, the first and great 
commandment, he constantly violates ; and the 
wrath of God, which is revealed from heaven 
against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, 
now encompasses him with its terrors ; for he cannot 
but confess that he too has changed the truth of 
God into a lie, and worshipped and served the 
creature more than the Creator, who is blessed 
forever. That idol, self, is between him and the 
ever-blessed God. On it his affections centre, and 
cannot rise to freely expand themselves upon those 
objects which he yet knows to be alone worthy of 
supreme regard. However he may control the 
impulses of his nature, and subject them to the 
law which he imposes ; however he may strive to 
bring them into subordination to the divine law, 
he still finds that the ultimate motive and end are 
the same. He is only more consistently and pru- 
dently selfish, and has not yet escaped from the 
bondage of evil. Yet he is now fully conscious 
that it is evil, and that it has its root in his own 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 553 

heart. He finds that he is himself guilty, perverse 
in his own will or personal being, and under the 
condemnation of a righteous law. He now recog- 
nizes his need of deliverance from the bondage, of 
redemption from the slavery, of sin. He abhors 
himself as an apostate from truth and from God, 
and dares not so much as lift up his eyes to 
heaven. He is weary and heavy laden with the 
oppressive sense of guilt and condemnation, and 
in the bitterness of his spirit cries out, with the 
apostle, O, wretched man that I am ! who shall 
deliver me from the body of this death ? What 
divine power will interpose to redeem my personal 
being from its state of bondage and spiritual death, 
and restore it to liberty and life ? Who that is 
all-powerful to save, will break through the strong 
bonds of sin, take away the pollution of guilt, 
make me at peace with God, and bring me into 
the glorious liberty of the children of God ? 

Thus, as was said more briefly under the pre- 
vious head of discourse, the truth, as revealed in 
the conscience, applied to the motives of our ac- 
tions, and so the condition of our self-knowledge, 
has become a law for us, and our schoolmaster to 
bring us to Christ. It makes known to us our lost 
condition as sinners, and our need of his redeeming 
power. But I have resumed and dwelt upon this 
point here more at large, with a view to the great 
question, What is Christ in relation to our wants as 
sinners? I have represented the mind as awakened 
to reflection, and becoming more and more conscious 
of these wants, both as to their intensity and their 
70 



554 man's need of Christ. 

distinctive character. I have endeavored to show, 
in some measure, as revealed in the conscience of 
the awakenned sinner, the oppressive burthen and 
guilt of sin, and the necessity there is of a power 
out of himself, as the condition of his deliverance. 
It is only in the awakened consciousness of our 
character and condition thus represented, that we 
can understand or appreciate our need of Christ, 
and what he is for us as the Redeemer and re- 
storer of fallen man. It was obviously because of 
our fallen condition, of our state of spiritual death 
and alienation from the light and life of God, that 
the great work of divine love and mercy manifest- 
ed in the incarnation of the Son of God, became 
necessary for our salvation. It is because we are 
sunk in sensuality, in bondage to the elements of 
the world, and under the condemning sentence of 
the holy law of God, that the knowledge of that 
law, as revealed in the consciences of men, is no 
longer adequate to procure our spiritual obedience 
and happiness, and can only make known to us the 
evil of our hearts. It is in the sense of guilt and 
condemnation which that law awakens, and in the 
conscious terrors which it inspires in view of our 
relation to a just and holy and heart-searching God, 
that we are prepared to apprehend Christ as the 
necessary mediator, in and through whom God is 
reconciling the world unto himself. By the nkowl- 
edge in our own souls, of the deep mystery and 
malignity of sin, and by that alone, can we rightly 
measure and apprehend the love of God, and that 
great mystery of godliness, God manifest in the 
flesh. That manifestation of divine light and truth 



man's NEED OF CHRIST. 555 

in the common consciousness of men, before 
spoken of, pertains to the original and essential 
relations of our finite spirits to the spiritual world, 
and to God as the Father of spirits. But here we 
have, as it were, a condescension to our fallen con- 
dition, a love and mercy that follows us in our 
guilty self-ruin and alienation, and reveals to us 
the same divine Word incarnate in the world of 
sense, and in the form of our own humanity, that 
he might redeem us from the condemnation and 
power of sin, and bring us back to spiritual life, 
and to peace with God. God so loved the world 
that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoso- 
ever believeth in him should not perish, but have 
everlasting life. But time will not permit a far- 
ther developement of the answer to the question 
before us. Let me then, in concluding the pre- 
sent discourse, inquire, in reference to the general 
view which has been given, whether we have so 
heard the word of God, and so reflected upon our 
need of Christ as sinners, as to appreciate the 
character in which he is revealed to us in the gos- 
pel of his grace ? Have we become so conscious 
of our own guilt and condemnation, as to feel our 
need of that reconciliation to God which can be 
found only in Christ ? Are we so deeply impress- 
ed with the sense of our own poverty and helpless- 
ness, as to be prepared, with all the remaining 
strength of our souls, to flee to Christ as the only 
Saviour of sinners ? Let us examine ourselves, 
whether we be in the faith, and seek for spiritual 
life from Him who is able to save, even to the 
uttermost, all them that come unto Him. 



ADDRESS 



AT THE INAUGURATION OF THE AUTHOR 

AS PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSITY OF 

VERMONT, NOVEMBER 28, 1826. 



Under circumstances like the present, I should 
have seemed to be disappointing jour expectations, 
as well as violating the proprieties of time and 
place, if I had selected a subject for discussion un- 
connected with the occasion which calls me be- 
fore you. I could not, moreover, while preparing 
to enter upon the duties of a station of much 
responsibility, and requiring immediate attention, 
have consistently diverted my own thoughts from 
the objects thus placed before me, to foreign or 
more abstract speculations ; and, although these 
might have commended themselves more perhaps 
to all of us by the attractions of novelty, I could 
not on the whole wish to be freed from the neces- 
sity which urges the business and interests of edu- 
cation upon our regard. This subject, however 
it may have been exhausted, as to its general and 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 557 

theoretical principles, by eminent writers of both 
ancient and modern times, and rendered trite in 
its details by the daily discussions of our own 
periodical press, has still, like that of religion, a 
hold upon our attention, that can be lost only 
when we are no longer capable of improvement. 
Like that, it mingles itself with the sweetest char- 
ities of domestic life, and is second in importance 
only to that in its relation to communities and 
nations. It comes home to the heart of every 
father and of every mother, as they contemplate 
the future character of a son or a daughter, and in 
the minds of the wise politician and philanthropist 
is associated with their dearest hopes and most 
labored efforts for the improvement of society. It 
is practically connected with our daily and most 
interesting duties ; and its principles can never be 
too well understood, or too faithfully applied, by 
those who wish well to the happiness of their 
country. 

But aside from the more general claims which 
this subject has upon all men, there are circum- 
stances, if I mistake not, in its relation to the peo- 
ple of this country, which give it additional claims 
upon our attention ; and perhaps the present occa- 
sion cannot be more appropriately employed, than 
in contemplating some of the peculiar advantages 
ivhich we enjoy, as a people, for giving efficacy 
to the power and influence of education, and some 
of the higher results, in the general cultivation 
and well-being of society, which we may reason- 
ably expect it to accomplish, or towards which at 



558 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

least our efforts in relation to it should be di- 
rected. 

I am well aware, that on subjects of this kind 
there is great danger of being seduced by the de- 
lusions of self-flattery, and of indulging hopes that 
are never to be realized ; that we, in this country 
especially, have been charged, and perhaps not 
without sufficient cause, with exhibiting an unu- 
sual degree of these weaknesses by drawing upon 
the day-dreams of futurity for the gratification of 
our national vanity. But, if there is danger of 
yielding to the extravagancies of hope, and of ven- 
turing in our anticipations too far beyond the sanc- 
tions of experience, there is in our circumstances, 
perhaps, no less danger of limiting our views of 
what is possible in the conditions of society too 
much by our knowledge of what has been accom- 
plished, and of thus having our active virtues par- 
alyzed, and our well-grounded and self-realizing 
hopes of the future withered, by coming under the 
fascination of the past. In discussing the subject 
of education especially, we cannot be too often re- 
minded, that we are making an experiment upon 
its efficiency, as yet untried in the progress of 
human society. It is not that we profess to know 
more of the principles or practice of education, as 
an art, and in its individual applications, than was 
known by Quintilian. So far, it may have been as 
well understood and as effectually applied under 
the dominion of the Ptolemies and the Caesars, as 
it is, or is likely to be, among us ; but in its more 
extended influence on the condition and well-being 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 559 

of community, and so of its members in their 
social relations, it is accompanied and rendered 
effectual by political and moral principles which 
had not then dawned upon the world ; principles, 
too, of mightest energy, and of intensest interest 
to the general mind, which, among other nations, 
are cautiously hushed to repose in the dormitory 
of the soul, or, if partially aroused, are held in 
durance by the chains imposed in their sleep, but 
which among us have been active and unrestrain- 
ed from the first landing of our pilgrim fathers ; 
which have given birth to the ideas of society now 
realized in our institutions of government and re- 
ligion ; which are to us as free and as vital as the 
air we breathe, and attest their vivifying presence 
by the comparative enlargement and elevation of 
soul which every where pervade our population. 
What these are comparatively, and what is the 
special importance of the principles to whose in- 
fluence I have ascribed them, in giving efficacy to 
the means of knowledge and improvement, is best 
known to those who have had opportunity to com- 
pare the spirit of society among a free people with 
that which prevails among a passive and humbled 
peasantry, hopeless and therefore thoughtless of 
improving their condition ; or to those benevolent 
but unfortunate individuals, who, knowing the val- 
ue of knowledge and of character to men in every 
condition, have labored to impart them to the 
minds of their slaves. These principles, our com- 
mon birth-right, and the experience and knowledge 
of ourselves, the feeling of independence, and 



560 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

sense of personal responsibility in the performance 
of duties which our institutions impose alike upon 
all, and to which we unavoidably grow up, form a 
common substratum of general character, on which 
each individual more easily and more permanently 
lays the foundation and erects the superstructure 
of his own ; they constitute a living and life- 
giving root, on which the homogeneous principles 
of truth, of knowledge and of social improvement 
may be engrafted, and thus yield a more abundant 
harvest. For they are not merely proclaimed with 
imposing solemnity in our declarations of right 
and our constitutions, thenceforward to serve no 
other purpose but that of a dead-letter introduc- 
tion to our statute books ; but reflected back from 
every page that follows, and infusing their spirit 
into all the actual forms and positive institutions 
of society, they impart to all a higher degree of 
practical efficiency, and are felt in their all-per- 
vading influence by thousands who are unconscious 
of their power, as the vital principle of the atmos- 
phere gives warmth and life to those who are ig- 
norant of its nature. 

But perhaps their legitimate character and ef- 
fects are no where so clearly revealed as in that 
remarkable institution, to which we are interested 
more especially to attend, the institution of com- 
mon schools. In the minds of those by whom our 
principles and our form of society were bequeathed 
to us, the maxim that all men are alike indepen- 
dent and have the same right to act in the various 
relations of society, awakened of necessity the 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 561 

idea of so providing for the instruction of all, that 
they should be qualified to act well. Hence, at a 
very early period after the settlement of New Eng- 
land, free schools were established ; and a system, 
unknown in every other country, which provides 
that the property of all shall be taxed for the edu- 
cation of all, under some varieties of form, now 
every where prevails. The object or the effect of 
this is not, indeed, to give very eminent attain- 
ments to any ; but to accomplish what the spirit 
of benevolence is now aiming at in other countries ; 
to implant the great principles of knowledge, of 
morality and religion, and to elevate the condition 
and character of the great body of the people. It 
goes among us to establish and secure forever the 
principles of equality, from which it sprung ; to 
secure the lower from the insults of the higher, 
and the weak from the oppressions of the power- 
ful. It prevents, therefore, all those evils, which, 
in other countries, have arisen from the opposing 
interests of different classes of the community, and 
obstructed the progress of general improvement. 
Instead of limiting our thoughts to a few only, it 
extends our hopes and our designs of improvement 
to all the members of the body politic, while it 
presents them to us in a condition best suited to 
receive the benefit of our labors. 

It might be said, perhaps, in regard to the supe- 
riority which we are here claiming, that, although in 
a different way and by a different mode of instruc- 
tion, the citizens of Athens were as intellectual, as 
highly cultivated, and as jealous of their liberties, 
71 



562 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

as we are. But even admitting that in their the- 
atres, at their public games, and in their academic 
groves, they exhibited more acuteness and activity, 
more cultivation, if you please, of the intellectual 
powers, counterbalanced, as these were, by a dis- 
soluteness of morals almost beyond our belief or 
conception ; we shall, as christians, and with our 
views of social happiness and cultivation, be little 
disposed to retract our claims of superiority of con- 
dition and of promise, when we consider, that in 
the whole population of Attica, these proud dis- 
tinctions, and that lofty independence of spirit of 
which they boasted, were confined to a few thou- 
sands, and, in perfect accordance with the politi- 
cal and moral principles which then prevailed, were 
purchased at the expense of more than twelve 
times their number of slaves in a state of physical 
and moral degradation, by the unprincipled op- 
pression of strangers among themselves, and by 
the frequent ruin of their colonies abroad. Nearly 
the same remarks may be made with justice of the 
inferior and less general cultivation of the Romans. 
To them, the idea of extending liberty and instruc- 
tion to all, to those who performed the labor as 
well as to those who enjoyed its fruits, to the poor 
as well as to the rich, had never occurred as even 
possible. Not only the sensual epicurean, but the 
stoic philosopher and speculative statesman had no 
higher conceptions of a perfect form of society ; 
and their most ideal theories of a free state took 
for granted the necessity of the citizens being sup- 
ported by the labor of slaves, that they might have 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 563 

leisure to cultivate their minds and attend to the 
concerns of the public welfare. Even in modern 
times, indeed, and under the influence of Chris- 
tianity, till a comparatively late period, the means 
and principles of education were confined to a very 
small number. Comparatively a few only, consti- 
tuting for the most part the higher ranks of soci- 
ety, enjoyed its advantages personally, or felt much 
of its indirect influence, in any country. Even in 
those countries most distinguished for literary priv- 
ileges and attainments, the great mass of the pop- 
ulation, whether in the condition of slaves or vas- 
sals, were not only placed, in fact, but believed to 
be placed of necessity, beyond the reach of in- 
struction, and remained, to almost as great a de- 
gree as the slaves of antiquity, at a hopeless dis- 
tance from every form of intellectual improvement, 
ignorant of letters, and unknown to history. 

Since the Reformation, indeed, there has been 
iu Europe, and, of late, through the efforts of be- 
nevolence, in other parts of the w r orld, a gradual 
extension of the blessings of knowledge to all 
classes of the people. In the Protestant countries 
on the continent of Europe, and in Great Britain, 
schools are established for the more or less general 
diffusion of knowledge ; but no where are they 
made, as they are here, an important and leading 
object in the policy of government, or supported 
on the same sure and liberal principles which have 
been adopted in this country. 

And even if they were universally established 
and supported, there is by no means that entire 



564 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

community of privileges and excitements to exer- 
tion, which has so great an influence in giving 
efficiency to our system. The same prevailing 
opinions which formerly operated to exclude the 
body of the people entirely from the means of im- 
proving their condition, still operate, though in a 
less degree. The existing and established forms 
of society still have their influence ; and even in 
England, amidst the great and benevolent efforts 
now made for the instruction of the laboring classes, 
the political expediency and safety of such a diffu- 
sion of knowledge are to this moment disputed by 
no small portion of the privileged classes. The 
efforts of the wise and the benevolent are baffled 
by the apathy of humbled ignorance on the one 
hand, and by the officiousness of proud ignorance 
on the other. In this country alone is the ex- 
periment undergoing a fair and unprejudiced trial, 
of placing all classes and all individuals theoreti- 
cally and politically upon the same level, and pro- 
viding for all the same system of free, public in- 
struction. Here alone, among civilized nations, 
is political aristocracy entirely abolished, and the 
aristocracy of nature permitted and assisted to 
grow up, unrestrained by artificial relations and 
forms of society. Our advances in general im- 
provement are neither frowned upon on the one 
hand by a privileged nobility, jealous of their rank, 
and cautious lest the toe of the peasant should 
come too near the heel of the courtier, nor on the 
other our efforts retarded, our energies of mind 
exhausted, and our resolutions and hopes dissipated, 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 565 

by a sensual and degraded race hanging upon our 
skirts, from whose minds the gladdening rays of 
knowledge are excluded alike by our precaution- 
ary measures of self-defence, and their own incrus- 
tation of sensuality. In the development of our 
form of society, the only collision that can arise 
from the cultivation of any or of all classes, must 
concern individuals only, and arise from the free 
and fair competition of talents in the general strug- 
gle for advancement. This competition it cher- 
ishes, and renders subservient to the general 
improvement, while it furnishes security against 
its evils. But no class of society can hope to ren- 
der their condition more secure or more happy by 
repressing the aspiring efforts of another. If evils, 
real or imaginary, result from such a system, they 
are trifling compared with its beneficial effects, — 
are felt under every form of society, and are such 
as will accelerate that general progress of cultiva- 
tion, in which they will find their remedy. If a 
little knowledge renders men self-confident and 
presuming, the only method of curing their folly is, 
to give them more. If the refined taste and fas- 
tidious feelings of the cultivated are scandalized 
by the necessity of holding intercourse with those 
of grosser habits, our state of society provides but 
one remedy, which is, to awaken and cherish the 
feelings of modesty and docility, by giving them 
clear conceptions and living examples of more 
perfect character, and with all patience and long- 
suffering to teach them refinement. 



566 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

But while we observe with gratitude such ten- 
dencies to improvement, and find so much to en- 
courage our efforts and give them a permament 
effect, in our frame of society and in the princi- 
ples for which our fathers contended, we should 
do injustice to ourselves, if we did not associate 
them, as they did, with other principles of a still 
more elevated and more sacred character. We 
can never forget, nor can we be too careful to re- 
member, that religious liberty, the right to worship 
God according to the dictates of their own con- 
sciences, was the great object, for the sake of 
which they at first asserted their political rights. 
In their minds, it was the power of religion, — the 
profound and abiding conviction of its divine prin- 
ciples and its obligations, that gave their highest 
importance to the rights and forms of human gov- 
ernment. It was their views of eternity, and of 
its interests, that exalted and substantiated the 
interests of time. It was the power of faith in 
the objects of another world, that sustained their 
spirits, and enabled them to undergo hardships 
and accomplish enterprizes, the consequences of 
which have formed a new era in this. It was, in 
a word, the Bible and the great ultimate princi- 
ples of human reason which it announces, that 
had taken possession of their minds, and kindled 
up there an enthusiasm which no earthly power 
could subdue. From these originated the new 
and sublime ideas of human government and 
human society which they cherished, and which 
their posterity have so far realized. From their 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 567 

practice, as well as from their theoretical princi- 
ples and their order of precedence in their own 
minds, it followed too by an easy inference, that 
the principles of religion, being of higher import- 
ance and antecedent authority, could not, in any 
of their developements, be subjected to those of a 
political nature. Thus the principles which Mil- 
ton proclaimed to unbelieving Europe, were put in 
practice here, and history now furnishes an argu- 
ment for their confirmation, which the genius even 
of Milton could not discover. While the nations 
of Europe, even those which are Protestant, have 
still endeavored to control the power of religion 
by human institutions, and to give efficacy to its 
divine authority by the enactments of human legis- 
lation, and still believe their establishments neces- 
sary to its support, our experience furnishes, by 
its contrast with theirs, ample proof that the effect 
of their system has been only to overbody and en- 
cumber the spiritual energy of religion with world- 
ly interests and intermixtures ; of ours, compara- 
tively, to give it a wider expansion, and its own 
divine efficacy in subduing the hearts and forming 
the characters of men. For, notwithstanding the 
many faults in public as well as individual charac- 
ter, which good men have deplored, and the tem- 
porary effects of the revolutionary war, and the ab- 
sorbing interest of politics that succeeded it, per- 
haps no people have ever felt the influence of the 
Bible so permanently, so efficaciously, and so uni- 
versally through all ranks of society, as the descen- 
dants of the pilgrims. There has been less of that 



568 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

passive acquiescence in its truths, which neither 
implies nor produces the exercise and conviction of 
the understanding, than prevails where religion is 
more connected in the minds of the people with 
their worldly interests. The sublime principles 
and ideas every where proclaimed in the Old and 
New Testament, even where they have not gained 
an habitual control over the heart, have more uni- 
versally called into vigorous exercise the rational 
and moral powers, and produced a speculative 
faith. The sense of religious obligation and the 
authority of conscience have consequently a greater 
influence on the intellectual character, and the 
fears and hopes which a consciousness of responsi- 
bility and the revealed sanctions of religion awa- 
ken, exert a more powerful influence over the pop- 
ular mind. The inference from all this is, that 
we have not only more already accomplished in 
the moral elevation and well-being of society, but 
a more sure foundation in the religious as well as 
in the intellectual character of our population, on 
which to erect the superstructure of future im- 
provement, than can be found among any other 
people. For as religious principles were the start- 
ing point and the source of all those ideas which 
we have realized in our institutions, so the influ- 
ence of religion on the moral character and the 
intellectual habits and acquirements of the great 
mass of our population is still the foundation on 
which those institutions rest. Thus, while poli- 
ticians in Europe consider it an essential part of 
civil government to support religion, we have re- 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 569 

versed the order, and look to our religion as the 
only effectual support of our government ; not in- 
deed as a part of the political system, associated 
and become one with it, as seems to have been 
the original design, but the basis on which it rests 
in the hearts of the people. For it is not only 
withdrawn, more than in any other country, from 
all secular interferences, but abstains from directly 
interfering with all secular interests. It sustains 
itself in and by its own spiritual life and energy ; 
and while it is independent of all aid from human 
institutions, and claims connexion only with heaven 
and the hearts of men, as its appropriate home and 
abiding place, it still sends forth its energizing and 
quickening spirit through all the complicated forms 
of society, building up the ruins that are fallen 
down, uniting and organizing anew the elements 
of good, which the warring passions and interests 
of men had torn asunder and scattered abroad, 
and budding and blossoming forth with rich luxu- 
riance in the refined and pure affections of social 
life, and in the nobler enterprizes of benevolence. 
In the character and condition of the great body 
of the people, its influence is visible, even to the 
passing stranger, in the appearances of comparative 
decency and regularity, which so generally prevail^ 
and let it never be forgotten, when, in passing 
through our country, we look with pride and joy 
from the summit of some lofty mountain upon the 
rich and splendid landscape beneath us ; upon the 
varied tokens of wealth, and prosperity, and happi- 
ness ; upon the cultivated and glowing fields, and 
72 



570 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

the thick clustering villages, which impart by their 
presence a human interest to the mountains that 
hang over them and the rivers that wind around 
them, O, let it never be forgotten, that the talis- 
man which has called up before and around us 
this more than "phantom of delight," this vision 
of substantial beauty, is no other than those taper- 
ing spires, which in every direction we behold 
rising among the hills, and pointing to heaven. 
That fervent and holy communion of men's hearts 
with the objects of another world, which they 
indicate, imparted an unearthly character of dura- 
bility and progressiveness to their doings in this ; 
it awakened those deep-rooted principles that 
actuated them, and gave birth to those sublime 
ideas of beauty and perfection which were a light 
to their understandings, and have not only realized 
what we may behold from a distant elevation, but 
in each and all of those numerous villages have 
stirred up a spirit of active beneficence, and scat- 
tered along their shaded streets the schools of 
knowledge and industry, have diffused the bles- 
sings of order and domestic comfort through all 
their dwellings, and from their outmost borders, 
and far up among the hills, have banished from the 
view of the traveller the disgusting haunts and 
deformities of vice. 

And while we rejoice, with more of thankful- 
ness than of pride, in such fruits of the piety and 
wnsdom of our fathers, we are encouraged in all 
our labors by the belief that the same productive 
energies still exist in all their fulness and vitality, 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 571 

and that our labor shall not be in vain. While, in 
other countries, the efforts of those who are be- 
nevolently aiming at the general diffusion and in- 
crease of knowledge and social happiness are baf- 
fled and retarded in their effect by the conflicting 
passions and interests that are connected with an- 
tiquated but unyielding forms of society, and by 
the fears of even good and wise men, in most 
countries, lest disorder and revolution should be 
the consequence, we have the way of improvement 
open and plain before us; a population already in- 
telligent, and therefore more conscious of their 
wants, and more capable of advancement ; so 
skilled in the arts of life, as with all the labors of 
society upon their own hands to find leisure and 
inclination for still higher attainments in knowl- 
edge, and capable, as those arts shall be still far- 
ther improved, of indefinite progression ; under a 
form of society and of government established 
upon general principles so simple and so powerfully 
commending themselves to the understanding and 
reason of all men, and withal so conclusively ap- 
proved in practice, as to be perplexed with no fears 
of change. In pursuing the great object, indeed, 
of improving our condition as a people, through 
the influence of education, and of attaining, or ap- 
proaching at least, all those forms of ideal perfec- 
tion in society at which our religion teaches us to 
aim, we feel ourselves delivered from the slavery 
of fear, and given up unshackled to the promptings 
of hope ; and if it be indeed true, as we are com- 
pelled to admit from the facts of history, and as 



572 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

the most philosophic historians have believed, that 
the religion of the Old and New Testament has 
been mainly instrumental in raising the Christian 
world to its present comparatively high degree of 
knowledge and civilization ; if it be true that our 
pagan ancestors of the North of Europe were ele- 
vated far above the debasing horrors of their own 
paganism by the awakened hopes and fears of 
Christianity, in its then corrupt and sensualized 
forms ; if it be true that the power of the same 
religion delivered the Protestant nations of Europe 
from the thraldom of Papal superstition and tyran- 
ny, and, recovering still more of its native divinity 
from the burthen of sensuous and cumbrous cere- 
monials, inspired our fathers with faith to seek on 
these shores an asylum for the more free develope- 
ment of its spiritual energies, and secure their in- 
fluence upon "those who should come after;" and 
if, in that more spiritual form, it has already pro- 
duced an elevation of the great mass of the peo- 
ple, in their moral and intellectual character, above 
the condition of any other people, and well nigh 
delivered us from the fear and the power of human 
laws, by giving to society "a power of moral ef- 
ficiency above and beyond the law ;" then may we 
with good reason hope, that, in the farther devel- 
opement of its spiritual and heavenly powers, it 
will bear us onward to yet higher degrees of social 
happiness and perfection. 

Nor is this animating hope discouraged, on a 
nearer view, by the existing state and prospects of 
religion among us. We have had sufficient expe- 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 573 

rience to be convinced, notwithstanding all we 
may find to lament, that religion will best sustain 
itself, in its spirituality and efficiency, in the inde- 
pendent condition in which we have placed it. 
We have proof of it in our multiplied and increas- 
ing voluntary associations for every purpose of re- 
ligion and charity. We have proof of it, and of 
its increasing effect in promoting the intellectual 
and moral improvement of the people, in the dis- 
tribution of Bibles and Tracts, in the establish- 
ment of Sabbath Schools and Sabbath School Li- 
braries. In all these, indeed, we may find ground 
to hope for far more than we have yet experienced, 
in the efficacy of the public system of instruction, 
and in the general character of the popular mind. 
And even in its influence on the higher forms of 
knowledge and cultivation, we have much to hope 
from the increasing enterprise and more clerkly ac- 
quirements of our clergy, from their more general 
and more habitual recurrence to the original sources 
of religious knowledge, and an apparent inclina- 
tion towards the higher ethics and more spiritual 
philosophy of our ancient divines. In all things, 
as well in relation to society at large as to individ- 
ual character, indeed, the spirit of the Gospel, and 
the nature of the ideas to which it gives birth, 
teach us to go on to perfection. And why may 
we not, without the charge of presumption, indulge 
the hope, that by its all-powerful aid, and the more 
efficient application of the means within our reach, 
the universal standard of intellectual cultivation 
may become far more elevated than it has yet 



574 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

been, and the power of moral principle increased, 
till every family and every individual shall feel to 
good purpose the influence of motives, far nobler 
and purer than the fear of human laws. To realize 
all this, indeed, to a very eminent degree, it seems 
only necessary to carry into general operation the 
methods of instruction already introduced and 
partially exemplified in their effects in some of our 
cities and villages. These methods, securing to 
so remarkable a degree the essential article of 
economy, and applying the general principles of 
instruction with a practical effect so entirely 
beyond what is attained in our common schools, 
and withal so capable apparently of universal 
application in a state of society constituted like 
ours, seem to afford a sure presage, that our chil- 
dren are destined to a far higher degree of im- 
provement, than has fallen to the lot of their fath- 
ers — that the ability to read and write, which was 
itself but a few centuries ago classed among the 
" arts magicall " by the majority of our ancestors, 
will soon be no longer the object of congratulation 
and boasting, as the universal attainment of our 
population. The results actually realized in some 
of our infant schools, and in others, where still the 
expense both of time and money falls within the 
limits of our general system of public instruction, 
and the redemption from moral degradation and 
crime, said on the highest authority to be so 
thoroughly effected by the influence of Sabbath 
Schools among the most exposed population of 
our cities, seem to give the sanction of experience 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 575 

to anticipations that a few years ago would have 
been deemed chimerical ; and, with fidelity on our 
part, as parents, as citizens, and as christians, to 
promise, at no distant period, a waking up of the 
dormant energies of reason and intellect, an inten- 
sity of action in the popular mind, that shall give 
to our social life " a being more intense," and dif- 
fuse, through all classes of society, a kind and de- 
gree of moral and intellectual enjoyment hitherto 
known only by the few. 

Our views of intellectual improvement, how- 
ever, and of acquired knowledge among the great 
mass of community, we know and admit, must 
have their limits. We cannot expect, that all men 
will be philosophers. We cannot hope that every 
farmer's son will exhibit the genius of Robert 
Burns, or that every votary of the awl and last, 
like a master-singer of Germany, will leave to pos- 
terity his half-score of folios, and never make a 
shoe the less. But with such methods of early in- 
struction as have been just now alluded to, and the 
aid of such institutions for the improvement of the 
laboring classes as are rapidly going into operation 
in some parts of Europe and of this country, and 
of those village libraries and associations, the advan- 
tages of which can be so easily enjoyed among us, 
we may hope for the diffusion of the rich treasures 
of English literature, and so much of practical and 
scientific knowledge among all classes, that every 
artist shall understand the principles of his art, 
and the labors of the agriculturalist be not alto- 
gether empirical, — that each shall be so well ac- 



476 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

quainted with the sciences immediately connected 
with his daily occupation, as to be prepared to 
adopt or to invent the most useful and scientific 
methods of accomplishing his ends. The advan- 
tages to be expected from such practical and sci- 
entific attainments may be estimated best, by those 
who have observed the superiority in the state of 
the useful arts, and in the conveniences of domes- 
tic life, which the general diffusion of intelligence 
has already given us over those countries in which 
the laboring classes are untaught. It is not mere- 
ly that with instruments adapted to their purpose 
and skill in the use of them, more labor is per- 
formed with the same expense of time and strength; 
but more leisure from the laborious duties of life 
is secured to a large portion of the community for 
the acquisition and enjoyment of the higher sources 
of happiness. That habit of mind, moreover, 
which a diffusion of such knowledge would tend 
to cultivate and render more extensively useful, a 
habit almost unknown to the laboring classes in 
other countries, is already strikingly characteristic 
of ours, and the source of many of those interest- 
ing and important improvements and inventions in 
the arts which have been multiplied among us. It 
is a habit, too, of higher dignity and importance, 
in an intellectual point of view, than we might at 
first imagine ; for the mind that is accustomed to 
the free and bold use of its own inventive powers 
in the methods of accomplishing its own daily 
purposes, and, looking beyond the experience of 
the past, has learned to aim at ideal improvements 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 577 

in its ordinary pursuits, is of the same class with 
that of the theorizing politician ; and the power 
of intellectual vision, that in the rude implements 
still made use of in most other places, could dis- 
cover the form and adaptation to its purpose of 
the ordinary scythe or rake even, with which the 
grass is gathered from our meadows, or which seeks 
for ideal perfection in the form of an inkstand or 
of a cooking stove, may claim some kindred with 
that which discovered the possibility of the steam 
engine in the rise and fall of a pot-lid, or even 
with that ethereal vision, which, in the fall of an 
apple, saw the constructive principle of the mate- 
rial universe. 

In regard to the higher objects of a system of 
education in the pursuit of the sciences, and of 
that general cultivation of the mind which quali- 
fies men for the business of a professional and lit- 
erary life, it would be difficult to say, with any con- 
siderable definiteness, to what points our efforts 
may be consistently and safely directed. It must 
be admitted, I fear, that the general spirit of our 
institutions does not, as yet, so much favor the 
pursuit of those higher attainments which from the 
nature of the case must be confined to a small 
number, as of those which may be common to all. 
The consequence is, especially in the present in- 
fancy of our schools of learning, that, in the pur- 
suit of objects requiring for their attainment so 
large and costly an apparatus of books and imple- 
ments of science, our efforts are often frustrated 
and our hopes discouraged, by the want of advan- 
73 



578 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

tages which the European scholar can every where 
enjoy. We have, how T ever, no reason to doubt, 
that, with the growing value of those donations of 
land which have in fact been already liberally given 
in this and most of the other states, and the rap- 
idly increasing conviction of the importance of 
such attainments to the general welfare of society, 
this evil will be gradually if not speedily removed. 
In the mean time, in order to arrive at the highest 
results that may reasonably be expected from the 
excitements to excellence which our state of soci- 
ety furnishes, we cannot be too well aware, es- 
pecially in this State, that economy in the dispo- 
sal of our resources is indispensably necessary. 
We cannot hope, from what we now know of the 
sources from which they are to be derived, that 
we shall ever be able to compete with most of the 
other States of the Union in the pursuit of either 
public or private wealth. We could not even ask 
our Legislature to bestow its hundreds of thou- 
sands upon the buildings of our University ; nor 
have we many individuals who could, if they were 
so disposed, bestow their tens of thousands upon 
our libraries and philosophical collections. Nor 
are we able, as in some other States, to derive 
revenues to our higher schools from those who 
enjoy their instruction. If w r e would encourage 
and cherish the love of science and literature 
among our population to any considerable extent, 
we must bring them within the means of attain- 
ment by offering them cheap. Under all these 
disadvantages, it was not to be expected that w 7 e 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 579 

should very much abound in men of scholarlike 
attainments. In the higher departments of sci- 
ence and literature, consequently, it must be con- 
fessed that our scholars are, as a body, inferior to 
the scholars of Europe, though much has need- 
lessly been said to vindicate our character in this 
respect. It is more correct, and more to our 
credit, too, to say, that the infancy of our estab- 
lishments, and our very limited means for making 
such attainments, rendered them impossible ; and 
that, if we have not had scholars, we have had men 
who in our circumstances were far better ; men, 
who, in a state of things entirely novel, and such 
as would inevitably have led the slaves of knowl- 
edge and experience into the grossest practical 
anachronisms, had judgment and skill to shape 
their own course ; men who had a heart to prompt, 
a head to contrive, and a hand to execute; of large 
round-about sense and cultivated reason ; who, 
with no guide but the knowledge of our common 
nature, and the general principles which their own 
reason furnished, without the aid of book or pre- 
cedent, could form ideas of unknown and untried 
institutions, and prove their practicability by giving 
them actual existence. Of such men we have had, 
and still have many ; and, while we acknowledge, 
with regret for the fact, that in the higher attain- 
ments of a systematic education we are inferior to 
the scholars of European Universities, and that our 
degrees in the arts are not indicative of as much 
sound book-learnedness as theirs, we still hope 
that the difference may justly be ascribed, not to 



580 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

the imperfect form of our social institutions, so 
much as to their imperfect developement ; and 
when we shall have acquired something more of 
practical skill and efficiency in our systems of ele- 
mentary instruction, and shall have had time to 
accumulate at our Collages and Universities the 
same means of giving and receiving instruction in 
the higher departments of knowledge ; when our 
master minds can be withdrawn from the great 
work of completing the developement of our social 
institutions, and we can assemble in our cities and 
villages, and gather around our seats of learning, 
men whose minds have received a more manly 
discipline, and who are thus prepared for that re- 
ciprocal action of mind upon mind, which is after 
all the life and soul of a nation's literature ; then, 
as we trust, may we hope to rival our transatlan- 
tic brethren in the extent and variety of our indi- 
vidual attainments, in the vigor and clearness of 
the light that emanates from our halls of science, 
and the glory that encircles the high places of our 
literature, philosophy, and religion. Then will 
our marts of literature, and our scholastic retreats 
also, be furnished with all the abundance and 
variety of the literary craft. We shall have an 
ample supply, not only of men of learned lore, the 
useful and laborious race of critics and lexicogra- 
phers, but the numberless enthusiasts of natural 
science ; those whose highest ambition will be 
gratified by giving name to an undescribed flower 
or fossil, and who will find matter for infinite con- 
gratulation in the discovery of a beetle or a butter- 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 681 

fly which had escaped their predecessors. We, 
too, shall be thronged, in our own due time, by 
men of minute attainments ; by antiquarians, and 
topographers, and bibliographers, and the whole 
catalogue of German subdivisions. And, if we 
may safely hazard our auguries of the future from 
the present appearances in our literary horizon, 
w r e shall have no want of more popular writers ; 
of those who shall weave the rich material exist- 
ing in the strange facts of our early history, and 
in the original, enterprizing and bold characters of 
our early adventurers, into the variegated tissue 
of their own beautiful and sublime fictions, and by 
the power of their enchantments over the popular 
mind, shall evince our affinity in peculiarities of 
talent, as well as in our common ancestry and 
language, to the great sovereigns of the human 
heart ; of those who may claim relationship with 
that peculiar but powerful race, who rule with 
undisputed sway over the minds of our elder breth- 
ren, and who have extended the dominion of 
Britain, where her regal sceptre can never reach ; 
whose unobtrusive but fascinating voice is heard 
along the shores of our lakes, and among the re- 
cesses of our mountains, and leads in unresisting 
captivity the hearts of men who would not obey 
the imperative thunders of her navy. 

Then too, if not till then, w 7 e may hope to have 
our men of poetic genius, 

" men of highest gifts, 
The vision and the faculty divine ; " 



582 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

men, who, drinking deep at the well-springs of 
human knowledge, enriching their intellectual 
stores, and building up their moral being, by daily 
and nightly communion with the great men of 
every age, and with that Spirit who enricheth with 
all gifts of knowledge and of utterance, shall mould 
the elements thus collected into the bright and 
imperishable forms of their own creative imagina- 
tion, a monument at once to their own fame, and 
to the honor of their country ; men who, by that 
magic power which language imparts to the genius 
of the poet, shall give life to the inanimate, and 
permanency to the fleeting forms of the material 
world around us, and shall transport our beautiful 
lakes and majestic mountains in vision of glory to 
the people of other lands and of other tongues, 
and make them to glow in our own imaginations 
under a new and more brilliant veil of vernal 
splendor, of which no blighting frost shall divest 
them, and which can never again be hidden from 
our view by the gathering snows, or the lengthen- 
ing darkness of winter. 

We, too, like the nations of Europe in ancient 
and in modern times, may hope to have our phi- 
losophers, and those worthy of the name ; men of 
deep and mysterious thought ; men who, escaping 
from the thraldom of the sensuous and the present, 
and with large discourse of reason looking before 
and after, shall form their minds to the discovery 
and apprehensions of ultimate principles ; the ven- 
triloquists of human reason, uttering forth her un- 
told mysteries, and 



INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 583 

" truths that wake 
To perish never ; n 

who, learning to see all things in the laws of their 
existence, and thus the future in the present, and 
to divine the fate of nations from the principles 
that actuate them and govern their policy, shall 
look through the vicissitudes of coming years, and 
be the wise men and prophets of their day ; men 
who, by the depth and justness of the principles 
which they announce, the living and productive 
energy of the ideas which they promulgate, shall 
impart wisdom to our teachers, and give laws to 
our legislators, thereby exerting a controlling pow- 
er over the minds of their countrymen, and the 
future destinies of their country ; who, treasuring 
in their minds 

" the sayings of the wise, 
In ancient and in modern books inroll'd," 

shall put to flight the phantasms and hollow ab- 
stractions of an unfruitful and lifeless system of 
speculation, shall lead us to the true knowledge of 
ourselves, and of that living and spiritual philoso- 
phy, which elevates knowing into being, which is 
at one with the truths of the Gospel, and which, 
beginning with the fear of God, terminates in the 
adoring love and holy participation of his divine 
nature. Such we may be permitted to hope will 
be the inspired and inspiring oracles of our acad- 
emic groves, the philosophers who shall be hon- 
ored and followed by the studious and choice 



584 INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

spirits of their time, and in the language of a liv- 
ing writer not unlike themselves, 

* Piercing the long-neglected, holy cave, 
The haunt obscure of Old Philosophy, 
Shall bid, with lifted torch, its starry walls 
Sparkle, as erst they sparkled to the flame 
Of odrous lamps, tended by saint and sage." 



DISCOURSE, 



NECESSARY AGENCY OF RELIGIOUS TRUTH 
IN THE CULTIVATION OF THE MIND. 



{Delivered at the Dedication of the Chapel of the University of Ver- 
mont, 1830.] 



O, SEND OUT THY LIGHT AND «THY TRUTH ; LET THEM 
LEAD ME; LET THEM BRING ME UNTO THY HOLY 
HILL, AND TO THY TABERNACLES.— Psalm xliii. 3. 

To God it becomes us, in every enterprise, first 
to direct our thoughts. To recognize our depend- 
ence upon him, and in all our ways to acknowledge 
him, is our obvious duty, not as christians only, but 
as men. Nor is it the superintending control of 
his providence alone, that claims our regard. We 
are taught also to look to that inward agency of 
his Word and Spirit, whereby he hath wrought all 
our works in us. He knoweth our frame, he re- 
membereth that we are dust ; and it becomes us 
to remember that all our springs are in him. It 
becomes us to ask of him according to our need in 
the varying circumstances in which his providence 
74 



686 DEDICATION SERMON. 

may call us to act, that his strength may be per- 
fected in our weakness, that his light may illumi- 
nate our darkness, that his unchanging truth may 
dwell in and establish our inconstant hearts. Es- 
pecially should we feel the propriety of doing so, 
while engaging in those enterprises which in their 
character and tendency are nearly related to the 
operations of his Word ; and the accomplishment 
of which, both from their nature and their magni- 
tude, is, in a more peculiar sense, his own prerog- 
ative. In devising means for diffusing the light of 
knowledge, for sustaining and unfolding through 
successive generations the intellectual and moral 
energies of a free people, and thus carrying them 
onward, both as individuals and as a body politic, 
to the ultimate ends of their being, we ought un- 
affectedly and unceasingly to pray to God with the 
Psalmist : O, send out thy light and thy truth ; let 
them lead me ; let them bring me unto thy holy 
hill, and to thy tabernacles. In the prosecution of 
such objects, the light and truth of the divine 
Word are not only necessary to direct our labors 
in the employment of other means, but are them- 
selves the most efficient, and an indispensable 
means of operation. 

The connexion of these sentiments with the 
present occasion, I trust, will appear obvious to all. 
The institution within whose walls we are assem- 
bled, is intimately connected with the interests of 
education in the community to which we belong. 
The character and consequences of our doings, and 
of the principles we adopt in its organization and 



DEDICATION SERMON. 587 

management, concern not private interests, not the 
interests of one generation only, and not merely the 
personal advantage of the comparatively few who in 
successive generations may come under the immedi- 
ate influence of its instructions. All that pertains to 
a literary institution, especially among a free peo- 
ple, is public in its very nature, and affects the 
character and happiness of the whole community. 
Such was the design, indeed, with w T hich this in- 
stitution was originally established ; and it is des- 
tined, as we trust, to hold an important place in 
that system of means by which the people of this 
State are seeking to provide for the intellectual 
and moral interests of themselves and of the gen- 
erations that shall come after them. We contem- 
plate it as an instrument for promoting among us 
some of the higher and more important objects of 
mental cultivation, of literature and science, of 
philosophy and religion ; as a price put into our 
hands and the hands of our children to get wis- 
dom ; as capable at least of becoming an agent of 
great power for the diffusion of light and truth, an 
abiding and active principle of intellectual life in 
the community to which it belongs. With these 
views of its character, of its designs and its possi- 
ble influence, and of the ultimate ends with which 
it is connected, as an important part of our gen- 
eral system of means for eliciting and directing the 
powers of intelligence among us, we recognize the 
propriety and the necessity of associating with it, 
in the essential principles of its organization, the 
efficient influences of divine light and divine truth. 



588 DEDICATION SERMON. 

It is not, therefore, in conformity with established 
usage alone, that this place has been provided with- 
in its walls, or as a customary formality, merely, 
that we are assembled to consecrate it to the duties 
and influences of religious homage. We wish dis- 
tinctly to recognize the truths and duties which con- 
cern our relation to God, as intimately and essen- 
tially connected with the appropriate objects of such 
an institution. We would hereby express our 
conviction, that in this and in all institutions that 
are concerned in the proper business of educating 
the minds and forming the character of a free peo- 
ple, the influences of religion, the light and truth 
of the divine Word, are essentially necessary to 
the attainment of the end. Such, it is to be pre- 
sumed, is the general conviction among the people 
of this State ; and by them, we trust, the principle 
will be recognized in its application to our whole 
system of public instruction. It is not, however, 
wholly free from contradiction, or so easily under- 
stood in all its relations as to leave no room for 
misapprehension. It implies, moreover, for those 
who admit it as a principle of action, correspond- 
ing obligations, upon which it becomes us to re- 
flect, and of which we cannot be too distinctly 
conscious. 

Let us proceed to inquire, therefore, (as the oc- 
casion invites us to do,) what is the practical and 
necessary agency of religious truth in the cultivation 
of the mind, and what are some of the inferences to 
be drawn, tvith regard to the method and the obli- 



DEDICATION SERMON. 589 

gallon of employing it in connexion with our gen- 
eral system of instruction. 

In attempting to give a satisfactory answer to 
these inquiries, as to many others relating to the 
subject of education, the difficulties arise chiefly 
from the vague and contradictory notions which 
prevail, with respect to the nature and proper ob- 
jects of an education. We cannot of course de- 
termine, in any case, the fitness and propriety of 
the means proposed, unless we have distinct and 
correct apprehensions of the end which they are 
designed to accomplish. We cannot rightly ap- 
preciate the labors of an instructor, and the suita- 
bleness of the means which he employs, so long as 
we mistake the object at which he is aiming. It 
seems proper, therefore, to remark in few words, 
that the legitimate and immediate aim of educa- 
tion, in its true sense, is, not by the appliances of 
instruction and discipline to shape and fit the pow- 
ers of the mind to this or that outward condition in 
the mechanism of civil society, but, by means cor- 
responding to their inherent nature, to excite, to 
encourage, and affectionately to aid the free and 
perfect developement of those powers themselves. 
We do not seek, in devising methods of instruction 
and selecting the means of mental excitement, to 
ascertain what will qualify the subjects of it for a 
predestined routine of occupations, but what is the 
character of their minds, and what will best serve 
to stimulate their growth, to elicit and cultivate 
their latent powers. The question is not what 
will make them skilful lawyers or adroit politi- 



590 DEDICATION SERMON. 

cians, but what will make them men. Nor is this 
a distinction of trivial importance. It affects not 
only our speculative views of an education, but to 
a great extent also our practical methods of in- 
struction. It should be added, that in nothing per- 
taining to an education is its practical importance 
so great, as in that to which our present inquiry 
relates. If, in providing for the instruction of the 
young, our guiding purpose be, as it too often is, 
to prepare them for attaining some worldly end, 
we make them, in fact, subservient to that end. 
If their whole education be conducted with an ul- 
timate reference to their success in the world, as 
merchants, for example, or civil engineers, or as 
professional men, the results will be such a culti- 
vation of their minds only as will shape them to 
the particular relations in which they are to act. 
The aim will be to make their powers serviceable 
for attaining the outward object, rather than to 
provide for their harmonious and perfect develope- 
ment. The inherent claims of the mind itself, in 
its own proper being, its inward seekings and ten- 
dencies, are disregarded, or forcibly subordinated 
to some object of worldly interest or ambition. If 
we have right views, on the other hand, of the pur- 
poses of education, instead of aiming at some 
object alien to the nature of the mind itself, we 
shall contemplate with reverence those awakening 
energies that so truly claim our reverence, and 
carefully inquire, what is their own proper ten- 
dency and ultimate end. The great question will 
be, not to what worldly purpose can the mind be 



DEDICATION SERMON. 591 

made serviceable, but what are the inherent claims 
of the soul itself; to what does it tend in the 
essential principles of its own being ; what consti- 
tutes the perfection of its being, and by what 
methods and means of education can we promote 
its attainment. If we distinctly apprehend and 
admit this view of an education, we shall be pre- 
pared in some measure to understand and appre- 
ciate the means proposed for its attainment. 

Especially shall we be prepared to contemplate 
with growing interest that regard which we owe, 
in our systems of education, to the higher claims 
and tendencies of our being. That indeed would 
alone be a perfect education, according to this view r 
of it, in which all our powers, both physical and 
intellectual, were cultivated and unfolded in their 
due proportions. But if, in aiming at the essen- 
tial interests of our whole being and our highest 
perfection as men, we reflect upon our various fac- 
ulties in their relation to the end which we have in 
view, we cannot but admit that the cultivation of 
all is by no means equally important. Thus the 
surprising physical powers which are cultivated 
by the exercises of the gymnasium, contribute in 
their proper place, if rightly understood, to the 
general perfection of our complex being. But 
when compared with a well cultivated understand- 
ing, how little do they add to our estimate of the 
man ! A similar remark may be made even of 
those faculties of the understanding which the 
occupations of society lead us to cultivate with 
most care, when compared with those higher pow- 



592 DEDICATION SERMON. 

ers of reason and reflection. We may be con- 
vinced of this, if we contemplate them as they are 
sometimes manifested alone, or accompanied with 
little exercise of these higher faculties of the mind. 
The Indian hunter in the pursuit of his game, or war- 
rior in the stratagems to which he resorts, exhibits 
a keenness of perception, an accuracy of discrimi- 
nation, and a degree of skill in adapting his means 
to the accomplishment of his end, seldom surpassed 
by those who have enjoyed the advantages of edu- 
cation. Again, in the opposite extreme, among the 
over-civilized nations of the East, we may find 
men, in all the various occupations of civilized so- 
ciety, as well prepared to fill them, so far as the 
faculties of the understanding which they call into 
action are concerned, as in Christian nations. The 
native merchants and lawyers of Calcutta are not 
deficient in foresight or adroitness for the accom- 
plishment of their ends. Why then are the ac- 
complished Indian hunter and the well-bred Hin- 
doo lawyer to be ranked so far below the well- 
educated man of our own Christian land ? Nay, 
why is the most crafty and the most eloquent of 
all the sons of the forest, or the most far-sighted 
and adroit politician of an Oriental court, placed, 
as he unquestionably is, and ought to be, in our 
general estimation of his character, far below a 
man of plain understanding, who has grown up 
under the light of the gospel ? Is it not because 
the powers which they have cultivated, however 
useful for the attainment of their worldly ends, 
are essentially, in every degree of cultivation, of 



DEDICATION SERMON. 593 

an inferior order, belonging to man in common 
with the brutes ; while in a Christian land there is 
among all classes a comparatively greater devel- 
opement of a higher power ? In them we may 
find even more, perhaps, of that which is merely 
useful with reference to the subordinate worldly 
ends of civil society ; but among ourselves, more of 
that which constitutes inherent and essential worth, 
self-consciousness and reflection upon the ultimate 
ends of our own being. Contemplate, if you 
please, in their highest degree and most perfect 
developement, those powers which the warrior and 
the politician would think it alone necessary to 
cultivate for the pursuit of their ambitious ends ; 
and how far do they come short of that at which 
we ought to aim in the education of our children ! 
Let them be the powers of a Napoleon or a Tal- 
leyrand ; and suppose them, as they unquestionably 
may be, to have been so exclusively cultivated as 
to constitute their highest claims to our regard ; 
and however they may excite, as beings of vast 
power and forethought, our admiration, they can- 
not and should not command our esteem and ven- 
eration as men. Contemplate, on the other hand, 
a man whose powers of understanding are com- 
paratively feeble and but imperfectly cultivated, 
but who, instead of rushing eagerly and unreflect- 
ingly into the pursuits of worldly interest and am- 
bition, has turned his thoughts to the knowledge 
of himself; who has communed with his own heart 
and cherished the powers of reason and self-con- 
sciousness ; and we cannot but acknowledge a new 
75 



594 DEDICATION SERMON. 

and higher claim to our regard. The man who 
has been taught to reflect upon the ultimate ends 
of his being, to contemplate with steadfast eye the 
fixed and eternal principles of reason and right, 
whose soul is filled and expanded with the ideas 
of immortality and of God, and who, at the same 
time, elevated and awed by the contemplation of 
these, walks reflectingly with a sense of religious 
obligation and reverence, he is the man in whom 
we recognize essential and inherent worth. In 
him we find unfolded the true and distinctive prin- 
ciples and characters of our humanity. We recog- 
nize in him the dawning of that light which breaks 
in upon us from the spiritual world. We contem- 
plate in him, not merely powers that are service- 
able as means for the attainment of an outward 
end ; but that which has a worth of its own, and 
not only deserves but commands our reverence for 
what it is in itself. We discover the awakening 
of those energies by which our humanity is allied 
to eternity and to God. And shall the cultivation 
of these be forgotten or disregarded in our meth- 
ods of instruction ? Shall we neglect to unfold 
those powers which are of highest worth, those 
powers of self-knowledge and self-control which 
connect us with the spiritual world, while we ex- 
ert our skill and exhaust our means in cultivating 
those in the perfection of which, after all, the 
brutes may be our superiors ? Show me rather 
the youth whose soul has been wakened up and 
aroused from the thraldom and lethargy of sense, 
from the fascination of the present and the world- 






DEDICATION SERMON. 595 

]y, to the contemplation of spiritual truths, to a 
near and earnest communion with the secrets of 
his own being, with the indwelling and humanizing 
law of his conscience, with the self-revealing ideas 
of responsibility and of God, and I will show you 
one who, though unskilled it may be in the occu- 
pations of the world and undisciplined to the rou- 
tine of the merchant, the warrior or the politician, 
has nevertheless, in a higher sense than either, the 
education of a man in the great essentials of his 
humanity, of a man in the image of his Maker. It 
is this waking up and actuating of the essentially 
human and the spiritual in man, which we are 
bound to consider the highest aim in the educa- 
tion both of individuals and of the community. 
It is hardly necessary to add, that for the accom- 
plishment of this, we must look to the influence of 
religious truth. What other power has been found 
among the arts and knowledges of civilized society, 
in ancient or modern times, that could dissipate the 
darkness of the understanding, by kindling up the 
light of reason ; that could so fully emancipate the 
truly human from the domination of the animal in 
man ? Nor is it by a mere arbitrary agency, that 
it produces such an effect upon our minds. All our 
powers are actuated and unfolded by agencies cor- 
responding to their character ; and the natural light 
is not more perfectly correspondent to the power 
of vision and essential to its exercise, than the 
presence of divine light and truth, to the develope- 
ment and exercise of our rational and spiritual 
powers. It is indeed the essential correspon- 



596 DEDICATION SERMON. 

dene j and precon fortuity of our minds to the ideas 
and truths of religion, that constitutes our human- 
ity. Conceive them divested of the ideas of God, 
of eternity, of freedom and absolute truth, and we 
leave the animal merely, but the man has vanished. 
There remains, indeed, a creature more subtle than 
any beast of the field, but likewise cursed above 
them all ; upon its belly must it go, and dust must 
it eat all the days of its life. No, the great and 
commanding truths of religion with which we are 
blessed, and which we have the privilege of em- 
ploying as means of mental cultivation, are no out- 
ward framework of propositions for the understand- 
ing alone, and proposed as the arbitrary instru- 
ments of discipline and outward conditions of 
intellectual improvement. They are rather inhe- 
rently and essentially the correlatives of our in- 
ward being. They are an expressed and outward 
manifestation to our understandings of that which, 
by reflection, we are to unfold in our own self-con- 
sciousness and reason. No other truths can have 
the same power, because no other truths have the 
same relations. It is because we recognize these 
relations, that we feel and cannot resist their 
power. It is because they commend themselves to 
our reason and consciences, as reflections of that 
same light which in them, too, has its dawning, 
that we cannot dispute their authority. It is be- 
cause of this, that they seize with such energy 
upon the minds of all men, and not only unfold and 
call into action those powers of thought to which 
they are more immediately addressed, but extend 



DEDICATION SERMON. 597 

their quickening energies to all the germs of intel- 
ligence, and give " unity and the circulating sap 
of life" to our whole intellectual growth. 

If such, then, be the inherent character and ne- 
cessary relations of that religious truth with which 
we are concerned, and such its practical influences 
upon the developement of the human mind, may 
w r e not draw some very obvious but important in- 
ferences with regard to the use of it as a means of 
education ? If those specific effects which it pro- 
duces are of a higher kind, and more indispensable 
to the well-being of the whole man, in relation to 
his ultimate end, than the effects produced by any 
other means of instruction, can it reasonably be 
omitted in the choice of those means ? While we 
make provision for every other object in the edu- 
cation of our children, shall we leave that which, 
considered, as it now is, with reference to the per- 
fection of an education merely, is more important 
than all others, to the operation of chance, or the 
general and uncertain influences of society ? Or 
shall we entirely separate this from the inferior ob- 
jects and means of education ; and, while we make 
other and distinct provision for its attainment, ex- 
clude the exhibition and influences of religious 
truth from our seats of learning? To all these 
questions, the answer seems to me very deducible 
from the views which have already been given. 
To exclude the light and truth of the divine Word 
from the minds of those whom we profess to edu- 
cate, and to provide in no way for securing their 
appropriate influence, to say nothing of its more 



598 DEDICATION SERMON. 

criminal character in the eye of the christian, is 
the grossest absurdity to the view of an enlight- 
ened philosopher. However we may cultivate 
other faculties, if the higher and religious tenden- 
cies of our being are neglected, we do but educate 
the animal man. We may make him, indeed, a 
well disciplined and serviceable animal; but his 
true humanity is yet latent. Cheated of its pre- 
rogative, and shrouded in those webs of worldly 
knowledge and those inventions of an unenlight- 
ened understanding which serve but to exclude the 
true light from heaven, it manifests its being and 
its tendencies in the form only of groping super- 
stition and idolatry, and becomes the blind and 
gloomy prompter of those inhuman observances 
which flow, even in the most civilized countries, 
from the " dark heart " of paganism. That the 
same outward results do not follow in christian 
countries, with regard to those whose religious ed- 
ucation is neglected, or from whose minds the 
truths of religion are wilfully and so inhumanly 
excluded, proceeds from the fact, that, where the 
light of truth pervades the community, no per- 
verted ingenuity can wholly prevent it from illu- 
minating the minds of all. Such general illumi- 
nation, in a community like our own, will indeed 
do much ; and it is this diffusive and holy light, 
beaming upon our towns and villages and pene- 
trating to every sequestered cottage among our 
mountains, that, without any conscious effort of 
their own, tends, more than all other agencies, to 
elevate the general character of the people, and 



DEDICATION SERMON. 599 

saves even the most worldly and degraded from 
the gloomy abominations of paganism. But how 
far short is the general influence thus exerted, of 
the effect that might be expected from the direct 
and habitual and personal application of religious 
truth to the minds of all ! 

Nor is the effect at which we aim, considered 
as a part and the most essential part of our human 
education, one that can be separated, in the pur- 
suit and in the use of the appropriate means, from 
the other objects and means of intellectual culture. 
The influence which religious truth exerts and the 
energies which it calls into action, are essentially 
connected, as was already remarked, with all our 
powers of knowledge and all the products of in- 
telligence. It is not so much a distinct and sepa- 
rable part of what should be taught in a system of 
instruction, to be learned and stored up in the mind 
for future use, as a pervading and life-giving pres- 
ence and power that should act upon the mind in 
every stage and process of its developement, and 
bring all the powers of the soul, as they are un- 
folded, under its holy and humanizing influence. 
It is not by the critical investigation of religious 
truth, that its great and indispensable influence as 
a means of education is chiefly to be secured. 
Most of those great truths to which this influ- 
ence is to be ascribed, have little need of the aid 
of speculation in order to their proper effect. They 
are such as address themselves immediately to the 
intuitive perceptions of reason and conscience. 
They need but to be distinctly exhibited and they 



600 DEDICATION SERMON. 

carry their own evidence with them. And how- 
ever the evil and perverse will may place itself in 
opposition to the duties and obligations which they 
imply or impose, the effect, so far as the specific 
purposes of general education are concerned, is for- 
ever secured. These are " truths that wake, to 
perish never." When so presented and contempla- 
ted as to waken up the corresponding powers of 
our inward being, they become in fact identified 
with them. When once the ideas of God and of 
moral responsibility, for example, are distinctly 
contemplated and unfolded in our minds, no soph- 
istry of the understanding, and no perverseness of 
the will, can ever dislodge them from their place, 
or entirely divest them of their influence. We 
must first cease to be rational, before they will 
cease to form a living and indwelling principle and 
power within us. It is the habitual exhibition and 
present influence, therefore, of the great truths of 
the divine word, from which the effects aimed at, 
by their means, in a system of education, are 
chiefly to be expected. In this way, at least, not 
only the Christian, but every ^rational man, who 
will reflect for a moment upon the nature of relig- 
ious truth and its relation to the human mind, 
must admit that its light and power ought to ac- 
company all our general systems of education, and 
pervade our schools of knowledge. 

But if the energy of the divine word be as I 
have represented it in its relation to our powers of 
intelligence, an all-pervading energy ; if it be as 
the sap of life to the living tree of our knowledge, 






DEDICATION SERMON. 601 

will it not, and should it not, extend its influence, 
in a greater or less degree, not only to the mind of 
the scholar directly, as an accompaniment to other 
means, but as a directing and modifying influence 
to those means themselves, and to the subject and 
material of our systems of instruction? While we 
employ it as a primary agent in cultivating the 
powers of intelligence, ought not the whole system 
of means which we employ, to be in harmony with 
its influence ? We must not, indeed, confound the 
objects and methods of a general system of educa- 
tion, either with those of a professional education, 
or those of the Christian ministry. It is not its 
purpose to teach a system of theology, nor, in the 
same manner as the ministry of the gospel, to con- 
cern itself with the spiritual character and condi- 
tion of its subjects. But, while it is directed to 
its own distinctive and appropriate objects, should 
we not be careful that there be no contradiction 
and inconsistency in the means and influences 
which it employs ? The powers of reason and in- 
telligence, all those powers which it is the proper 
business of education to unfold and cultivate, be- 
long to the same mind. Though differing from 
each other, and unfolded by different means, suited 
to the character of each, they are not contradic- 
tory and subversive one of the other. The perfec- 
tion of mental development results in the united 
and harmonious action of all our intellectual pow- 
ers. A perfect system of education would consist 
in the systematic agency of all such means as may 
conspire for the accomplishment of that end. Com- 
76 



602 DEDICATION SERMON* 

mon sense would teach us, therefore, that we can- 
not, with propriety and consistency, combine in our 
system of instruction the truths and principles of the 
divine word, and other principles and influences of 
contrary tendency. Our powers of intelligence are 
not only without contradiction in their relation to 
each other, but they instinctively tend, under the 
control of reason, to systematise and reduce to con- 
sistent and harmonious principles the whole com- 
plex body of our knowledge. The mind is one, 
and truth, in its relation to the mind, is one. The 
power of intelligence admits of contradiction, nei- 
ther in its being nor in its knowing. The more 
deeply we reflect, the more distinctly shall we be 
conscious that such is, and by a necessity of reason 
must be, the case with every rational intelligence, 
Thus the commanding power and influence of reli- 
gious truth, where it is fully admitted, must espe- 
cially tend to bring into harmony with its own 
spirit the w 7 hole system of instruction. Nor can 
any one deny that such ought to be the result. 
Such will and ought to be the case, more especially 
in those higher institutions of education, in which 
not only the teachers, but the pupils, may be sup- 
posed capable of reflecting upon and systematizing 
the knowledge which they acquire. In this case, 
even more latent inconsistencies would be liable to 
detection ; and, whether detected or remaining la- 
tent, their influence must be injurious. Do not 
the interests of education, therefore, — and it is 
with these only that we are now concerned — do 
not the interests of education, as well as those of 



DEDICATION SERMON. 603 

religion, require that we teach nothing incom- 
patible with those great truths and principles of 
the divine word, which are themselves fitted to 
seize with such power upon the mind ? Especially 
should all appearance of contradiction be avoided 
here, in that stage of an education when the mind 
is becoming more distinctly conscious of its own 
energies, and of the grounds of truth in its own be- 
ing. The systems of philosophy taught usually in 
our higher institutions, even where they do not 
immediately relate to the truths of religion, call into 
action powers of thought and form principles of 
reasoning, which cannot but be applied to all our 
views of truth and the ground of our convictions. 
The spirit of philosophical inquiry, and the ten- 
dency to reduce our knowledge and our opinions 
to the unity of a system, consistent and harmoni- 
ous in kself, cannot be restrained in its application, 
everi if it were desirable that it should be. Is it 
wise, therefore, as in the Scottish Universities, to 
attempt to draw a line of separation between the 
truths or doctrines of religion and the results of 
philosophical inquiry ? 

If the principles of religion are true, and hold 
such a relation to truth generally and to our intel- 
lectual being as I have represented, must they not 
be such as philosophy also is bound to recognize ? 
Whether we consider the truths of religion, or the 
truths of philosophy, indeed, as the foundation in 
the architecture of our minds, the superstructure 
can be such only as the foundation will sustain. 
The entire upbuilding of our intellectual being 



604 DEDICATION SERMON. 

must spring from the same foundation of eternal 
truth. It must be a living temple, animated and 
adorned by the light and power of truth, and con- 
secrated to the God of truth, or it will prove but 
the fancy-work of vanity, or the more solemn 
mockery of error and delusion. It was from a 
deep conviction of this, produced by that percep- 
tion of the essential relations and interdependency 
of all the principles of truth which similar circum- 
stances in the history of the human mind have al- 
ways occasioned, that, in the fervor of the Re- 
formation, so deep an interest was felt in the whole 
system of intellectual discipline and instruction. 
Thus we find, in the latter part of the sixteenth 
century, the most powerful minds which the ex- 
citements of the Reformation had called into ac- 
tion, engaged in earnest controversy on the intro- 
duction of a new system of Logic into the Protest- 
ant schools of Europe. Is it because we are wiser 
than they, and understand the principles of educa- 
tion better, that we have no Logic, and do not 
concern ourselves with relations of this sort ?- I 
dare not believe it. A system of education must 
be one system, a united and consistent whole, re- 
ferable, in all that it teaches, to harmonizing first 
principles ; or it must contain, however they may 
be latent for a time, the elements of distraction, of 
error, and of dissolution. 

Such a system, consistent with itself, in unison 
with those principles of religious truth which con- 
cern the essential constituents and the ultimate 
end of our being, and irradiated by the light of the 



DEDICATION SERMON. 605 

divine Word, we are bound to aim at, in all our 
plans of general education. We are under obli- 
gations, not as christians merely, but as men and 
as members of a body politic, to give to the power 
of divine light and truth the place which it so man- 
ifestly claims, in providing for the education of our 
children and the members of the community to 
which we belong. Other and more mechanical 
methods may give to men that partial and relative 
discipline of their faculties which is more imme- 
diately sought for, with reference to the different 
occupations of civil society ; but only that which 
forms them with reference to their ultimate end, 
can make them men, or fit members of a free com- 
munity of men. The means of instruction and 
discipline employed in the despotic government of 
the East, may, as they have done for centuries, 
make those subjected to them civilized; may shape 
and mortice them, that is, to the places, and fit 
them for the special services, assigned them in the 
mechanism of civilized life ; but can never make 
them, in the distinctive sense, cultivated, or give 
them that self-knowledge or self-control under the 
authority and law of reason, which are essential to 
the enjoyment of rational liberty. We are bound, 
therefore, so far as it is possible, by the influences 
of religious truth in our system of education, to 
cultivate and unfold the higher and distinctive prin- 
ciples of humanity. We are bound to do so, as 
men linked by the common bonds of humanity to 
our fellow men. As members of the great com- 
munity of persons, of rational and accountable 



606 DEDICATION SERMON. 

beings, we are under obligations, even paramount 
to those which bind us to the interests of a worldly 
state, to promote the higher interests of our own 
and the common humanity. From these obliga- 
tions, no mere worldly interests and no state pol- 
icy can absolve us ; because all worldly ends are 
subordinate to those which reason prescribes as the 
alone fixed and ultimate end of our rational being. 
I make this distinction, because where the State 
exists, with a fixed constitution and determinate 
worldly ends as a State, those ends are not identi- 
cal or always coincident with the personal and ul- 
timate ends of the individuals who compose it. 
Thus, in the civilized states of the East, the ends 
of the state are answered, when, in the division of 
labor and diversities of rank which the organiza- 
tion of society renders necessary, every individual 
is fitted to the place assigned him, however unfit 
he may be for attaining the ends of his own per- 
sonal being. In this sense, indeed, the people of 
the East have reduced civil society to a more com- 
plete organization, in other words, they are more 
civilized, perhaps, than the nations of Christendom. 
Every individual is fixed in his place, and taught 
the precise duties which belong to it. It is only 
for the occupations of a state so organized, that a 
system of education designed for the attainment 
of particular worldly ends exclusively, can prepare 
its subjects. The two things, indeed, are nearly 
related to each other ; and the perfect idea of a 
state formed of such subjects, and for the attain- 
ment of its own ends, with entire disregard of 



DEDICATION SERMON. 607 

personal and individual ends, seems to have been 
conceived in the earliest periods of hoary antiquity. 
By the division into castes, not only the individual 
with respect to himself, but the parent with res- 
pect to his children, is deprived of all power and 
privilege, both in the choice of an object and the 
mode of pursuing it. All are predestined to fill 
certain stations and perform certain services in the 
mechanism of society, marked out for them with 
the greatest possible precision ages before their 
birth. Such is the highest perfection of state pol- 
icy and state craft. 

But for us and our children, in the provi- 
dence of God, a better inheritance is provided. 
We are not the subjects of such a state, nor 
predestined to be mere working instruments 
for attaining the subordinate and worldly ends 
which the thraldom of civilization imposes upon 
us. We can hardly, indeed, be said to be subjects 
of any state, considered in its ordinary sense, as a 
body politic with a fixed constitution and a deter- 
minate organization of its several powers. But 
we are constituent members of a community, in 
which the highest worth and perfection and hap- 
piness of the individual free persons composing it, 
constitutes the highest aim and the perfection of 
the community as a whole. With us there is 
nothing so fixed by the forms of political and civil 
organization, as to obstruct our efforts for pro- 
moting the full and free developement of all our 
powers, both individual and social. Indeed, where 
the principle of self-government is admitted to 



608 DEDICATION SERMON. 

such an extent as it is in this state, there is in fact 
nothing fixed or permanent, but as it is made so 
by that which is permanent and abiding in the in- 
telligence and fixed rational principles of action in 
the self-governed. The self-preserving principle 
of our government is to be found only in the con- 
tinuing determination and unchanging aims of its 
subjects. Its principle of unity exists only in the 
unity of an all-pervading law of reason and con- 
science. Our obligation to the state, therefore, 
as citizens, is simply an obligation, as men, to pre- 
serve and transmit to our children that condition 
of society, in which the highest perfection and 
well-being of the individuals composing it, is iden- 
tical with the highest aims of the Commonwealth. 
The rational idea of such a Commonwealth in its 
full developement, permit me to add, would be 
realized, where the powers of reason were unfolded 
in all the members of the community, where all 
were self-controled by the indwelling law of con- 
science, and where the personal well-doing and 
well-being of each results in the harmonious co- 
agency, the ever-living combined energy and social 
happiness of all. But this, I am well aware, is 
an idea which belongs either to poetry or to relig- 
ion. It can be contemplated only in the ideal 
creations of the poet, or in the city of God. Let 
us rather dare, in the power of a Christian's faith 
and hope, to contemplate the latter ; to look for- 
ward to the time when, by the free and living 
energy of that Word which we are privileged to 
employ, our land shall become indeed the city of 



DEDICATION SERMON. 609 

God, a mountain of holiness, and a dwelling-place 
of righteousness. 

If in any way we can be honored and privileged 
to be co-workers in realizing an idea so far beyond 
the results of past experience, and the designs or 
even hopes of the mere politician, it must be chiefly 
by promoting the cultivation of the community. 
If we would promote that cultivation in its dis- 
tinctive and proper sense, as the developement of 
the truly human in our complex being, it must be 
chiefly by employing the more than human power 
and efficiency of divine light and truth. With these, 
should all our systems of instruction be accompa- 
nied, and by these should our schools of knowl- 
edge be always irradiated. It is from a conviction 
of this truth that the place in which we are assem- 
bled has been prepared in this institution, and that 
we have come to consecrate it to the worship of 
God and the influences of his word. The God 
who claims our homage, is wonderful in counsel 
and excellent in working. It is the same God 
who worketh all in all. Most devoutly then would 
we invoke his presence ; and most solemnly do we 
consecrate to him and his more immediate service, 
this place of our daily prayers. May he ever 
vouchsafe to dwell in it, and make manifest his 
presence here by the light and power of his word. 
May those who teach, and those who learn, in this 
institution, as they assemble here for their morn- 
ing and evening devotions, receive with meekness 
the ingrafted word, and be all taught of God. In 
all the appropriate duties of this place, in the whole 
77 



610 DEDICATION SERMON. 

organization and instruction of this institution, and 
from year to year and from generation, may the 
quickening and elevating and humanizing influ- 
ences of divine truth be experienced. From this 
place may a light and power emanate from age to 
age, pervading and informing the mind of this 
whole people, raising them from the slavery of 
ignorance and vice to the freedom of knowledge 
and virtue, unfolding those powers of their human- 
ity by which they are most nearly allied to the 
divine nature, making them capable and worthy 
of those blessings of liberty which are yet untold, 
but which God, in his providence, has placed be- 
fore us and our children. May his light and his 
truth be sent forth to give power and efficacy to 
all our institutions and means of improvement, that 
we may have wisdom and understanding in the 
sight of the nations, and that a voice as from 
heaven may be heard saying, Behold the taberna- 
cle of God is with men, and he will dwell with 
them, and they shall be his people, and God him- 
self shall be with them and be their God. 



TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 



ON THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE ESSAY 
STYLE AND THE STYLE OF ORATORY. 



The character of style denoted by the essay 
style, is not, I believe, very distinctly defined. An 
essay, according to Johnson's definition, is "a 
loose sally of the mind, an irregular, indigested 
piece." The style naturally to be expected in such 
a production would of course be easy and inarti- 
ficial, varying with the momentary fluctuations of 
thought and feeling, as in the essays of Montaigne 
and Goldsmith. The writer proposes to himself 
no fixed object, no definite end, to which he shapes 
his thoughts ; but allows himself to be guided by 
the natural train of association. The style, con- 
sequently, adapts itself to the thoughts as they 
rise. It may be elegant, polished, harmonious, 
energetic, or sublime ; it may possess all the vari- 
ety of expression which Cicero would place at the 



612 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 

command of his ideal orator ; but that variety is 
undesigned and casual, not moulded, by the mod- 
ifying power of the imagination and the regula- 
tive power of the understanding and will, to a 
unity of purpose and harmony of effect. All its 
movements are prompted from within by the suc- 
cessive evolutions of thought and feeling, and are 
in no regard prospective. In this point of view, 
the essay and the oratorical style differ from each 
other in a manner very nearly analagous to that 
which Schlegel, in his " Poesie der Griechen," has 
pointed out between the Homeric epic and the tragic 
style. The one is absolutely general and indefi- 
nite in its aim, seeking only to mould to a harmo- 
nious form and movement the successive images 
and feelings, as they present themselves in the 
mind of the poet ; while in the other, the tragic 
style, the poet seeks not merely harmonious move- 
ments, but harmony and absolute unity of effect. 
He has a fixed object, a definite and preconceived 
result, to which every thing is made to converge. 
He aims to make his work an organized and har- 
monious whole, in which all the parts are modi- 
fied and assimilated to a coincidence with the 
ruling spirit and purpose of the whole. If this 
view of the subject be admitted, it will be mani- 
fest at once that the characteristic feature of the 
oratorical style is, not that it employs exclusively 
or eminently any one of the multiplied forms that 
succeed each other in the indigested essay, but in 
that shaping and conformation of the parts to the 
whole which belongs to it as a work of art, as a 



TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 613 

production of creative imagination. In order to 
render intelligible my views of this peculiarity, I 
must be allowed to go more at large into the the- 
ory and some of the fundamental principles of the 
art. 

It will be seen, from what I have already ob- 
served, that I consider oratory as belonging to the 
circle of the arts. As such, it is dependent for its 
characteristic peculiarities on the same powers of 
mind, or in the language of Brown, on the same 
species of mental action, as the dramatic or other 
forms of poetry. The process of mind which 
gives to all these their form and colors, is syn- 
thetic ; and thus contradistinguished from the pro- 
cess of scientific inquiry, which is analytic. This 
latter, especially in pure a priori science, is, for the 
most part, analytic. It begins with separating in- 
tellectually and classifying ideas that exist in our 
minds. It is purely an intellectual process ; and 
not only does not require, but for the time being 
and in proportion to the degree of its action, is in- 
compatible with the presence of emotion. The 
farther and more accurately the distinctions and 
analysis are pursued, and the less this exercise of 
the mind is disturbed by the blinding influence of 
feeling, the more purely and characteristically 
scientific is the process. I do not mean to be un- 
derstood as saying that this power of mind, the 
power of analysis, is unnecessary to the artist. On 
the contrary, the more penetrating this power is ; 
the more he analyses to their primary elements the 
complex ideas and feelings which present them- 



614 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 

selves, the more rich and varied will be his mate- 
rials for accomplishing the reversed and synthetic 
processes of creative genius. I say only that the 
creative process of the imagination, which belongs 
appropriately to the artist, is in itself directly the 
reverse of the other, and that they cannot have a 
coexistent exercise in the mind. He must dis- 
solve, diffuse and dissipate ; but it is only in order 
to his appropriate business as an artist, that he 
may reproduce what Schiller would call the ele- 
ments* in new and ideal forms, that the blending 
and modifying power of the imagination may more 
easily imprint upon its material its own character, 
and mould it into its own harmonious creations. 
A clear apprehension of the generic distinction be- 
tween these two modes of mental action, I con- 
ceive to be essential to a right understanding of 
all that is distinguishing in the productions of 
the arts, and no less of oratory than of poetry. 
In their proper place and appropriate exercise, 
they both belong to the artist ; but in the mode of 
their operation they are as diverse, and as to the 
possibility of their co-existent exercise as incompat- 
ible, as the powers of dissolution and creation, or as 
the apotheosis of these powers in the Vishnoo and 
Siva of Hindoo mythology. Analytical specula- 
tion, with memory and fancy, are necessary to 
supply him with materials ; but as yet they may 
be compared to the *vAv t of the old philosophers, 

* See his piece on the introduction of the Chorus into the Mod- 
ern Drama, prefixed to his Braut der Messina. 



TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 615 

being without form or quality ; and it is in the 
exercise of his peculiar synthetic power, that he 
shapes them into beauty and harmony. It is the 
creative power of imagination that bodies forth 
" forms of things unknown, and gives to airy noth- 
ing a local habitation." 

The exercise of this power not only admits, but 
presupposes, the existence of emotion in the mind 
of the artist. I cannot but consider it, indeed, the 
essential aim of all general arts, not only of ora- 
tory and poetry, but of the plastic arts, to embody 
and give expression to feelings, or to those states 
of mind, which Brown* has classed together under 
the head of emotions. An excited state of mind, 
an emotion, whatever its nature may be, not only 
gives an impulse to the imagination, but is contin- 
ually present with it, and indeed constitutes per- 
haps an essential ingredient of its creative energy. 
It is not necessarily, to be sure, the individual per- 
sonal feelings of the artist. It may be entirely 
aloof from every thing personal. It is sufficient for 
my present purpose to say that it co-exists in the 
mind with the efforts of creative genius, and that 
those efforts are employed in clothing it with a 
body which gives it its appropriate expression. 
The first process of the artist's power is, to con- 
ceive that state of mind which he wishes to embody 
in the materials of his art ; that form of thought or 
feeling, which he aims to express or to lodge in 
the minds of others. It is a secondary process to 

* See Brown's chapter on the classification of the powers of 
mind. Vol. I., p. 259. 



616 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 

adapt the means to the end, — so to embody the 
primary conception as to give it an exact and per- 
fect development. A work exhibits the perfection 
of art, and so is classical, when this latter process 
is complete, or, in the metaphysics of Coleridge, 
when the secondary imagination fully and perfectly 
re-echoes the primary. It is the purpose of these 
remarks to show what I consider essential to a full 
understanding i of the subject ; how the primary 
conception and main purpose of the artist must 
necessarily shape and modify the whole, and even 
the minutest part of his production. In its exter- 
nal structure and conformation, it must be moulded 
to the character of the conception, the form which 
it is designed to embody. I shall not, I hope, be 
thought to frustrate my own design, if I refer, in 
order to illustrate my ideas, to the system of phi- 
losophy to which I have already alluded. The 
animating and energizing forms of the Peripatetics, 
as they represent them, have an agency in nature 
precisely analagous to that which I ascribe to the 
conceptions or forms of the artist's mind in the 
productions of art. They consider those forms as 
living, efficient powers ; and to the diversity of 
these powers, the diversity of organization in the 
corporeal world has reference. These organiza- 
tions are precisely adapted to the forms which 
they embody, as means to ends. Thus the mild 
and gentle instincts of the lamb led to an organi- 
zation suitable to its wants ; the ferocity of the 
lion, to one alike appropriate ; and every soul, 
says Aristotle, must have its proper body. The 



TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 617 

aptness of this illustration to the plastic a;ts of 
painting and sculpture will be obvious at once ; and 
but little reflection, I think, will be necessary, to 
see that it applies equally well to those produc- 
tions in which the poet and the orator embody 
their ideal creations. Here as well as there, 
every soul must have its own body. From 
the simple lyric ode of Anacreon and the 
sonnet of Petrarch, in which a single and mo- 
mentary movement of the soul is developed, to the 
sublime and more varied harmony of the Oedi- 
pus Tyrannus, and the immensely complicated 
movements of the Shakspearean drama, and from 
the brief eloquence of Homer's heroes to that 
" which thundered over Greece, to Macedon and 
Artaxerxes' throne," we shall find the same prin- 
ciple apply. There is the same subordination of 
the means to the end, and of the parts to the 
whole. Both the poet and the orator, having 
once distinctly conceived the things to be ex- 
pressed, the end to be accomplished, chained every 
power of the mind strictly to the point. The 
shaping and modifying power of the imagination, 
of which I have spoken, was ever active and was 
everywhere present, raising and depressing to the 
exact point of appropriateness, every lineament of 
the organized whole. Every part was so arranged 
as to give the highest possible unity to the struc- 
ture, and harmony to the result. It is very much 
to my point here, that Cicero*, in the work of his 
old age, has referred to the inventive power, not 

* See his Dialogue de partitione oratoria, c. 1. 

78 



618 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 

the discovery only, but the collocation both of 
things and words. By that secondary exercise of 
the imagination, they must all be placed and mod- 
ified with a reference to the whole. 

Both the votaries and the critics of ancient art, 
were equally nice in regard to the exact appropri- 
ateness of language and imagery to the form and 
degree of emotion to be expressed. The to npewov 
was with them a thing all important. This was 
the point in which, by the consent of antiquity, 
Demosthenes far surpassed all his competitors. 
The means, the instruments of his art, were so 
perfectly at his command, that he not only expres- 
sed every form and degree of emotion, but ex- 
pressed them in language exactly fitted to them, 
and without ever violating the strictest propriety. 
Thus Hermogenes,* in describing the style adapt- 
ed to the multiplied characters, or forms of emo- 
tion, which he considers the elements of an ora- 
tion, as well as in the account of that mixture and 
blending of them which constitutes the harmony 
and perfection of the combined whole, constantly 
refers to Demosthenes as the perfect model in all. 
All superfluity of language or imagery, all that was 
above or beyond the exact requirements of the 
thing to be expressed, was banished from the style 
of Demosthenes ; and if Cicero sometimes over- 
stepped the modesty of nature in his youth, he 
lamented and corrected his errors in riper years. 
It was not the partial splendor and pomp of single 
passages, which the ancient artists aimed at, but 

* See his book De formis oratoriis, passim. 



TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 619 

the grand and combined effect of the whole. A 
French dramatist or orator seeks to be clapped 
and applauded at every paragraph or every line ; 
while the genuine artist would be filled with indig- 
nation at so absurd a discord in the deep and har- 
monious movement which he was laboring to im- 
part to the minds of his audience. It may be 
inferred from what I have already said, that I con- 
ceive it to be the business of the orator, as well as 
of the dramatist, to impart such movement to the 
minds of his audience, and not only to impart but 
to preserve it unbroken ; to introduce nothing so 
directly and purely speculative and analytical* as 

* Here the distinction between science and oratory cannot be 
too carefully observed. Thus Aristotle makes a distinction be- 
tween him who seeks what is persuasive as an orator, and him 
who seeks abstract truth. Rhetoric, he says, teaches to present 
an enthymematic view of a subject, but to present it in a way 
fitted to persuade. The orator reasons and uses both kinds of 
logic, the inductive and syllogistic ; but he uses them in a form 
peculiar to himself: not in that in which the simple inquirer after 
truth uses them. An example is a rhetorical induction, and an 
enthymeme a rhetorical syllogism. So the logic of rhetoric differs 
from that of science, and assumes a form capable of falling in 
with and increasing the current of passion. So we find it in the 
great masters of Greek and Roman eloquence. In his oration for 
the crown, Demosthenes must have had as cumbrous a satchel 
as any bearer of the green bag in our courts of law. He brings 
forward a great mass of testimonies, written and oral laws of 
Athens, decrees of foreign towns and of the Amphictyonic coun- 
cil, and records of history, all exhibited and discussed with the 
utmost force and clearness. But through the whole process, there 
is an under-current and moving power of passion and eloquence 
that carries us forward to a final and unavoidable result. It is as 
though we were embarked upon a mighty river. All is animation 
and energy around, and we gaze with a momentary reverie upon 
the deep and transparent waters beneath. But even while we 
admire, the current grows deeper and deeper, and we are 



620 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 

to be incompatible with its existence, and so dis- 
turb and interrupt the impulse that should be 
given. Thus, of the four parts into which Cicero 
divides an oration, he has appropriated the first and 
the last especially to the communication of an im- 
pulse to the minds of the audience (ad impellendos 
animos). The narrative and argumentative parts 
that intervene, go to substantiate and realize the 
movement already given. 

Thus far, I have purposely classed oratory and 
some other forms of art together, and have treated 
of them only in regard to those principles which, 
from the general and essential nature of the arts, 
they possess in common. But there is one point, 
in which oratory is not only distinguished, but con- 
tradistinguished, from those to which I have al- 
luded. I mean, the nature of the faith which it 
requires, and the consequent nature of the effect 
produced. The work of the dramatist is profess- 
edly ideal ; and we require of him, as the condi- 
tions of submitting to the effects which he would 

S3 

produce, only a dramatic probability, and a har- 
mony and unity of parts conformable to the natu- 
ral and necessary principles of the art. He does 
not ask us to be awake and believe ; but if he per- 
form these conditions, we voluntarily surrender 
ourselves to illusion, and indulge in a waking 
dream. We suffer his magic power to transport us 
now to Athens, and now to Thebes ; and to stir 
up every emotion of our souls, for the mere pleas- 

unconsciously hurried onward with increasing and irresistible 
power. 



TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 621 

lire with which he repays us. But then, in this 
case, "our judgment," to use the words of an- 
other, " is all the time behind the curtain, ready 
to awake us at the first motion of our will." We 
submit to the power of the artist, just so long as 
his pageantry suits our convenience or our pleas- 
ure ; and then we dissolve the charm, and step out 
of his magic circle. 

The orator makes no such contract with the 
judgments of his audience, nor suffers them to 
make it. What is professedly ideal in the crea- 
tions of the dramatist, is substantiated and real- 
ized in those of the orator, by the power of the 
understanding. Every part of his work must 
bear the impression of truth and soberness; and, 
instead of soliciting the voluntary and negative as- 
sent, command the positive and involuntary con- 
viction of the audience. He must lodge his pro- 
positions firmly within the intrenchments of our 
reason and judgment, before we surrender our- 
selves fully to the movement that he requires of us. 
Till our understandings are taken captive, we with- 
hold the homage of our hearts. Thus, in Cicero's 
division, he has appropriated the second and third, 
the narrative and demonstrative parts of an ora- 
tion, to the conviction of the understanding, ad 
faciendam fidem ; that the audience may thus ad- 
mit and follow on the impulse and direction given 
in the first. The conviction must not only be 
awakened, but continued unbroken, that what we 
listen to, is not merely dramatic but absolute truth. 
We must be convinced, too, that the orator be- 



622 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 

lieves it, and is the subject of the emotions that 
he would awaken in us. In short, we must be 
out of the ideal world altogether, and in that real 
world where there is no illusion. If he seeks to 
move our passions without first persuading us that 
he does it on just and true grounds, he confounds 
two acts that are essentially distinguished. It was 
on this ground that Aristotle* found fault with the 
rhetoricians w 7 ho preceded him. By teaching 
their orators to move the passions, without teach- 
ing them how to discover what was fitted to per- 
suade and convince, they made them mere theat- 
rical stage-players. Again, we must be convinced 
that truth, or rather an effect founded in truth, is 
the sincere and only aim of the orator. To this, 
as the form which he is embodying, every thing 
must be strictly and entirely subordinated. The 
least overstepping of the vanity of art, or of self- 
display, is like the tongue of flame and the serpent 
eyes in Christabel ; it reveals to us the withering 
secret, that we are the silly dupes of the artist. 
This, from the representation of all the rhetori- 
cians who have given an account of them, w r as, as 
might from the nature of the case have been ex- 
pected, " the main head of their offending," w 7 ho 
first taught and practiced oratory as an art in 
Greece. They became so vain of the art, as to 
make the display of it their main object. They 
forgot to subordinate it, as they should have done, 
as means to an end ; and so degenerated them to 
what Plato has denominated them, to men Koyo- 

* See his Ars Rhetorica, cap. I 



TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 623 

SaiduXoi* The consequences were such as might be 
expected. The auditors listened to their produc- 
tions as specimens of only ingenious, artificial dis- 
play. Thus the paranomasia, the antithesis and 
finely-balanced sentences of Gorgias, the rhythm- 
ical cadences of Theodorus and Thrasymachus, 
and the rich and varied rhetorical artifices,* pom- 
pse quam pugnae aptius, which Isocrates was so 
fond of displaying in his younger, but which he 
abandoned in his riper years, were all heard, not 
for the sober truth they conveyed, but, like the 
exhibitions of the theatre, for the mere gratifica- 
tion of the fancy and the ear.f Even Plato is se- 
verely criticised by Dionysius, J not only for his 
dithyrambics, but for. his labored antitheses ; and 
the great prince of orators, Demosthenes, first 
learned to use the artifices of the middle style 
without ever abusing them. 

* So Quintilian, palaestrae quam pugna magis accommodates. 

f The style of eloquence here described had its origin in the 
Greek colonies of Magna and Grecia, or perhaps rather with Era- 
pedocles, who taught rhetoric in Sicily 444, B. C. Lyscias and 
Corax, however, are generally allowed (see Quin. B. 3. C. 1. and 
others) to have been the first who laid down rules for it. These 
were followed by Gorgias of Leontium, a scholar, as it is thought, 
says Quintilian, of Empedocles. They taught and had followers 
in Athens and other parts of Greece. Gorgias taught also in 
Thessaly and other places. But the strength and energy of Athe- 
nian eloquence had a different origin. It was born amid the con- 
tentions and revolutions of that free republic, and nourished in the 
assemblies of the Athenians. Pericles and Cimon were not in- 
debted to the western rhetoricians for the power that swayed 
those turbulent mobs. Demosthenes owed to them his art, but his 
sublime power and energy was of Athenian and republican growth. 

•t De ad miranda vi dicendi in Demosthene, cap. 23 — 24. 



624 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 

Many of the preceding remarks, I may be allow- 
ed to say, apply with full force to the style of com- 
position and the effect of sermons. The basis of 
all sound eloquence, at least of all that is appro- 
priately such, is the truth of Scripture, the author- 
ity of revelation. The whole superstructure must 
stand, and be seen by the hearer to stand, on that 
immovable foundation. If room is left in the in- 
terpretation, or the argument, to throw in a doubt, 
or a query, it is so much clear loss to the eloquence 
of the production. If it is to be highly splendid 
and poetical, I may, if I choose, voluntarily surren- 
der myself to the illusion, and enjoy the loveliness 
of the song, but both the production and my own 
mind, in that case, entirely change their condition. 
That is no longer eloquence ; and it is no longer 
my conscience that is addressed. I remember, for 
example, reading, not long since, a splendid ser- 
mon of one of our most popular New England 
divines. The language was eloquent, and the 
theory magnificent, but he had not secured his out- 
works. My judgment stuck at this interpretation, 
and I wrote Ichabod upon the sermon ; for its 
glory had departed. In such cases the merit of a 
work, as a mere production of imagination, is not 
altered, but we must prize and enjoy it in a char- 
acter entirely different from that which it was in- 
tended to possess. Jeremy Taylor has much 
poetry, where we could wish there had been elo- 
quence ; and the sublime and magnificent concep- 
tions of the Theoria Sacra of Burnet, though de- 
signed to be eloquent, are now read only as poetry. 



TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 625 

Notwithstanding, then, all that has been and may 
be said of the deadening influence of a critical 
system of interpretation, it is a necessary and in- 
dispensable prerequisite to all genuine pulpit elo- 
quence.* 

From all this, 1 gather the full conviction that 
it is not so easy a matter as we may have been led 
to imagine, to acquire the style and the art of ora- 
tory. It is not true that the mere purpose, blind 
and headlong as it generally is, will make man elo- 

* Strictly speaking, the orator needs only to produce conviction 
in his audience, by whatever means. If he succeeds in doing it 
with false interpretations and inconclusive reasoning, he is in- 
debted to the incapacity of his audience, and not to his own wis- 
dom. The degree of critical accuracy, therefore, necessary to the 
effect, will depend very much on the character of the audience. 
Though the theory of eloquence developed in the text is there ap. 
applied only cursorily to the eloquence of the pulpit, it is believed 
that it actually applies in nearly its whole extent, and that to fill 
the perfect ideal indeed of sacred eloquence on any principles of art, 
is far more difficult than to fill even the " aures avidee et capaces n 
of Cicero himself. To sustain the impassioned and divine enthu- 
siasm of St. Paul, and clothe it in forms of human language and 
human art, requires the learning and inspiration of Paul. What 
is said' in the text of the variety and extent of the requisite 
qualifications for an orator, also, might be defended at any length 
in its application to the sacred orator. The following brief sum- 
mary is from the Ecclesiastes of Erasmus, a work more worthy 
the attention of the student, and certainly more capable of inspir- 
ing him with enthusiasm, than those most likely to fall into his 
hands : quisquis praparat huio tam excellenti muneri, multis qui- 
dem rebus instructus sit oportet, sacrorum voluminum recondita 
intelligentia, multa scripturarum exercitatione, varia doctorum dic- 
tione, judicio sano, prudentia non vulgari, sereno fortique animo, 
prseceptis usuque dicendi, et parata linguee copia, qua dicendum 
est apud multitudinem, aliaque, quas suo loco commemorabimus ; 
mea tamen sententia, nihil illi prius aut majori studio curandum 
est, qui tam excellenti muneri sese praeparat, quam ut cor } orationis 
fontem, quam purgatissimum reddaL 

79 



626 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 

quent. The ignorant wish for the power, with 
the design of attaining some sinister and forcing 
purpose by the use of it, will never lead to the 
acquisition. Students are told, for example, that 
they must be orators, that it is absolutely necessa- 
ry to be orators, that their reputation depends on 
it, that learning is useless without eloquence, &c. 
So they resolve to be orators, they read or hear 
the story of Demosthenes, of the letter ?, and the 
pebbles ; that action is the first thing, the second 
thing, yea, and the third thing; and then they go 
and act, and pronounce their words trippingly on 
the tongue. But pray, what has all this to do with 
the eloquence of Demosthenes ? Before we are 
worthy to name that eloquence, we must have 
learned and habituated ourselves more " deeply 
to drink in the soul of things," and raise to " lof- 
tier heights our intellectual soul." We must learn 
in idea what eloquence is, and have imbibed a 
genial love for it, before we are prepared for its at- 
tainment. There must be enthusiasm ; the whole 
power of the mind must be enlisted, and the soul 
must be all a-glow with that aliquid immensum 
infinitumque, which inspired the youthful ardor of 
Cicero, and, after reducing him to the brink of the 
grave, raised him to the summit of human glory.* 



* Since writing the above, I have fallen upon the following pas- 
sage in Quintilian : " We are apt to cloak our indolence under 
the pretext of difficulty, for we are not very fond of fatigue. It 
generally happens that professors of eloquence court her for vile 
purposes and mercenary ends, and not because of her own tran- 
scendent worth and matchless beauty. I desire my work may be 
read by none who shall sit down and make an estimate of the 



TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 627 

With such a preparation, we may begin to advance 
in the path of genuine eloquence. But O, even 
then, though we might utter our most fervent uti- 
nam that it were otherwise, we shall find it no bus- 
iness of a man's leisure hours, no holiday sport, to be 
an orator, and a true one. The necessary requisites 
are too various and too great to be thus attained. 
The diversified powers of language, and the Pro- 
teus versatility of style, which Dionysius * has 
described by a dozen and a half of successive epi- 
thets, as the style of Demosthenes, and which 
formed so essential a qualification of Cicero's ideal, 
is not the accomplishment of a day. Even in the 
imperfect degree to which, by his own confession, 
Cicero had attained it, but on which he valued 
himself so highly, it cost him long and unremitting 
labor, f We need but to study his conception of 
a perfect orator, or even the account of his own 
studies, to feel our littleness, t The laborious 
pursuit of dialectics and philosophy, the daily re- 
peated and never ceasing efforts of the voice 
and the pen, under the best masters, in Latin and 
in Greek, at Rome, at Athens, in Asia and at 
Rhodes, omnia sine remissione, sine varietate, vi 
summa vocis, et totius corporis contentione, omni 

expense of time and application. But give me the reader who 
figures in his mind the idea of eloquence all divine, as she is ; who 
with Euripides gazes upon her all-subduing charms ; who seeks 
not his reward from the venal fees for his voice, but from that 
reflection, that imagination, that perfection of mind, which time 
cannot destroy, nor fortune affect. See at the end of B. 1. 

* De admiranda vi dicendi in Demosthene, cap. 8. 

f Orator. 

$ Brutus, cap. 91—93. 



628 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 

genere exercitationis, turn maxime stilo, — such are 
the means to which the Roman orator submitted 
to attain the object of his love. We can never 
hope to attain it by efforts less varied and labori- 
ous. The study of that technical and analyzing 
species of criticism and rhetoric, which concerns 
itself only with the external dress of oratory, with- 
out communicating its spirit, can never make us 
eloquent. We might study such works as that 
ascribed to Demetrius Phalarius, and labor through 
all the minutiae of rhetorical figures and elocution, 
till our gray hairs told us what we should soon 
enough learn, that art is long and life is short. It 
is the most eloquent lesson they will ever teach 
us. We must begin, where Aristotle and Cicero 
direct us to begin, with the knowledge of things. 
We must have eloquence of soul, before we have 
eloquence of tongue. If we would speak in the 
language of Demosthenes, w 7 e must learn habitu- 
ally to breathe his spirit. We must read his works 
till we love them, and then study them with the 
intensity which they deserve. We must read 
them till we catch the fire that lives and burns in 
his eloquent pages. For it is only by the habit- 
ual and yearning contemplation of the great mas- 
ters of eloquence in the magnificent proportion of 
their own monuments, that we can hope to attain 
a sympathy with their minds. We must be con- 
tent to rise step by step, with a humble but upward 
and ardent gaze, till they unroll around us their 
mighty gradations, " and growing with their 
growth, we thus dilate " " our spirits to the size 
of that they contemplate." 



TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 

[Read before an Association of Ministers, 1837.] 



IS IT EXPEDIENT TO EMPLOY EVANGEL- 
ISTS IN CHURCHES FURNISHED WITH 
THE STATED AND ORDINARY MEANS 
OF RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION? 



In treating of this question, I shall inquire, to 
some extent, into the purpose of the stated min- 
istry, and its relation to the church and the com- 
munity ; and then point out some of the effects to 
be apprehended from the introduction of a distinct 
class of religious teachers, such as we understand 
by the term Evangelists in the question before us. 

I. What, then, in the first place, is the proper 
function of the established and regular ministry, in 
its relation to the church and to the community at 
large ? 

The general answer, of course, is, that they are 
appointed to preach the gospel and administer the 



630 



TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 



ordinances of the gospel. They are set apart as 
a distinct body of men, necessary to the ends 
which God in his word and in his providence pre- 
scribes. But why necessary ; and what are the quali- 
fications which are to distinguish them from other 
christians, and on account of which the necessity 
for them exists ? Obviously, they are required to 
have a knowledge of divine truth, an intellectual 
insight into spiritual things, a systematic and com- 
prehensive acquaintance with all that is necessary 
for the right and the effectual teaching of divine 
truth and the application of the word and power 
of the Gospel to the minds of men, which does 
not belong and is not expected to belong to other 
men. They are the appointed, and, if they are 
what they ought to be, the divinely appointed and 
authorized spiritual guides and guardians of the 
flock. It is their business and their duty to be 
thoroughly instructed in the things pertaining to 
the kingdom of God, and able to teach others 
whatever is necessary to their salvation. There 
is a kind of knowledge requisite to fit them for 
their duty, which is not necessary to the private 
christian in order for his salvation. They must 
have a theoretical and speculative and a systematic 
knowledge of those truths which need only be 
known practically and in their immediate relation to 
the individual conscience, in order to have a saving 
efficacy for the individual. Take, for example, 
the doctrine of original sin. It is only necessary 
for the individual, in order to its practical effect on 
himself, to admit, with an inward undoubting con- 



TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 631 

viction of its truth, the fact that he is a guilty, 
self-ruined and helpless sinner, all whose thoughts 
and purposes are evil ; and that in Christ alone is 
his help and the power to overcome evil. The more 
simplicity, the more immediate and unquestioning 
assurance there is in the reception of this fact on 
the simple authority of conscience, the less of 
speculation and of speculative doubt about it, the 
better for the ends of the gospel in the application 
of all its truths. So, generally, the more the 
minds of those whom we would save by the word 
and spirit of the gospel are kept to the plain and 
simple practical application of the truth to the 
conscience, the more they can feel that it is purely 
a matter between God and their own hearts, and 
their minds kept free from doubtful and agitating 
questions, either about essential truths and duties 
or about matters in themselves indifferent, the bet- 
ter is the opportunity of the preacher to bring 
home the gospel to the heart with power and the 
Holy Ghost and an elevating and transforming ef- 
ficacy. But how is this simplicity of mind, this 
humble and undoubting reception of the funda- 
mental truths and principles necessary to the sav- 
ing efficacy of the gospel in the heart and con- 
science of the private individual, to be secured ? 
By the supposition, and from the nature of the 
case, it cannot be the result of speculation in the 
great mass of the people- It must be from the 
immediate agency of reason and conscience, en- 
lightened and actuated by the Word and Spirit of 
God ; and it is the business of the ministry to 



632 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 

know how to apply the rightly understood and in- 
terpreted words of divine truth so as to produce 
this result ; and instead of goading the people into 
speculative difficulties and doubts, to aid their con- 
sciences, and be co-workers with the Spirit of God 
in bringing them into practical obedience to the 
truth. But what will be the result, if there be no 
settled and consistent system of instruction on the 
part of those who are looked to as spiritual guides ; 
but if, on the contrary, the effect of their teaching 
is to turn away the minds of the people from the 
immediate truths of reason and conscience, — those, 
I mean, which the unsophisticated practical reason 
and conscience of all men will approve, — and to 
lead them into speculations beyond their depth, 
and the exercise of a faculty which they are un- 
qualified to employ on subjects of a spiritual kind ? 
Will it not tend to unsettle their conviction of es- 
sential and fundamental truths which immediately 
and practically concern their own inward being, 
and unfit them for being benefitted by the simple 
preaching of the gospel ? 

The clergy, then, the stated and established min- 
istry, I maintain, must be, in order to the accom- 
plishment of the purpose for which they were 
appointed, a body set apart by their knowledge 
and ministerial qualifications, and recognized and 
respected by the people, as guides and teachers in 
spiritual things. They must, as a body, respect 
and govern themselves, with all humility, indeed, 
as the servants of Christ, and with a deep sense of 
their responsibility as the guides of the flock and 



TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 633 

instrueters of the ignorant, but without losing sight 
of their place and office in the church. It is their 
duty to be guides ; to understand many things 
speculatively, which can be taught to the people at 
large only practically, and so far as they practical- 
ly affect their hearts and consciences. How can 
they perform the duties for which they are set 
apart and ought to be qualified, if they yield, on 
all occasions, to those who are unqualified to act 
upon them, the decision of those very questions 
which they have themselves been specially quali- 
fied to act upon and decide ? How can they shift 
off the responsibility which, by virtue of their 
office, devolves upon them, without a dereliction of 
their most solemn duty ? As a distinct body hold- 
ing this common relation to the church of which 
they are ministers, they ought to agree together in 
regard to the great and fundamental doctrines 
which they preach, and in regard to the measures 
which they adopt for the promotion of the interests 
of truth and the well-being of the church of God. 
They ought, as a body of qualified spiritual guides 
and teachers, to settle among themselves all those 
doubtful questions which they are supposed quali- 
fied to understand and decide, but which, from the 
nature of the case, the people at large cannot un- 
derstand, and therefore cannot decide aright. They 
must be responsible to each other and to the eccle- 
siastical bodies in which they are united, and 
must, I say, in order to the best practical effect of 
their ministrations, understand and maintain this 
common relation to the people of their care ; nor is 
80 



634 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 

it possible, for them in any other way to discharge 
the trust committed to their hands. Such was the 
purpose of ecclesiastical organization, in all the dif- 
ferent denominations of Christians which would be 
regarded as of any authority here. What else is 
the proper end of our organization in this body, 
but to secure unity of action and agreement among 
ourselves in doctrine and in practice, so far as re- 
gards the relation we hold to the church and the 
modes we adopt for advancing the cause of truth? 
What can be expected as to the practical advance- 
ment of religion in the churches and among those 
who are to be taught and guided, when the guides 
are at variance, and lead in different and opposite 
directions ? It is unquestionably a matter of the 
highest import, that the clergy, at least of the same 
denomination, understand each other, and be re- 
sponsible to each other for unity of action, in regard 
to all those matters which it is their proper busi- 
ness to examine and decide. It is important, and 
a part of their responsible and especial duty, to 
keep from the people all those agitating questions 
which the people cannot act upon intelligently, and 
leave their minds, as far as possible, unexcited by 
them. In this case, a body of clergy, such as they 
ought to be, truly reverend for their upright and holy 
conversation, their sound knowledge and wisdom, 
standing forth as the ministers, and speaking as 
becomes the oracles of God, will be revered by the 
great body of the people, and will have with them 
that spiritual authority which will prepare their 
minds to receive with simplicity and meekness the 



TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 635 

ingrafted word ; to apply it practically and imme- 
diately to their own consciences, with all its reno- 
vating and redeeming power. 

Now let us suppose a body of clergy aiming at 
or having attained this position in relation to the 
church and people of their care ,* responsible to 
and watchful over each other, as brethren ; under- 
standing the principles upon which they act, and 
working together in the same spirit, for the same 
end. Suppose this as that which either is, or 
ought to be the fact ; and then I am prepared to 
show, in part at least, in the second place, my 
views of the probable, or at least possible, effect of 
the present mode of employing evangelists. 

1. They may come into their sphere of action 
from a distance, authorized to preach by they 
know not whom, and wholly irresponsible to them 
as a body. In this case, so far as they have any 
settled and understood principles of action for the 
promotion of religion, they are liable to be broken 
in upon, and the minds of the people turned away 
from the practical application of truth to their own 
consciences, to the consideration of the changes 
made, and the debating of questions which belong 
not to them, and which they are unqualified to un- 
derstand. All the advantages of union and con- 
sistency among themselves are lost, and the peo- 
ple are agitated by matters that belong to the 
clergy. The whole purpose of ecclesiastical or- 
ganization is prostrated ; the clergy appear before 
the people, at variance among themselves ; and 
even supposing the diversity to be incidental, and 



636 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 

of little moment in itself, it tends to direct the 
attention to other things than those which imme- 
diately and practically affect the heart. 

2. They may more directly interfere with the 
relation subsisting between the established body 
or clergy and the people of their charge. I have 
said that, this relation ought to be, and must be in 
order to its proper end, one of watchful superin- 
tendance and guidance and spiritual authority on 
the one side, and of confiding and reverential do- 
cility on the other. This is liable to be broken 
up, by a course that withdraws confidence from the 
established clergy in regard to those very ques- 
tions which it is their business and duty to settle, 
and teaches the people to judge and decide for 
themselves what they are wholly unqualified to 
determine. When this is done, it has precisely the 
same effect in the church, which the prevailing 
radicalism of the day has in politics. It puffs up 
the ignorant and inexperienced with a vain confi- 
dence in their own understandings or their own 
fancied experience in spiritual things, and leads 
them to undervalue, perhaps to censure and deride, 
those to whom they ought to look up with humil- 
ity and reverence. It leads them to engage in 
speculations wholly beyond their reach, from want 
of discrimination to confound truth with falsehood, 
to unsettle all fixed principles in their minds, to 
make them regardless of the most sacred distinc- 
tions between truth and falsehood, and leave them 
the sport of every new doctrine, or the dupes of 
every new form of fanaticism. This is the case 



TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 637 

not only in regard to individuals, but to churches. 
They become broken off from the ministry which 
God has ordained, and heap to themselves teach- 
ers who will flatter their self-confidence and be 
governed by their ignorant and delusive notions. 
Again, by seducing the churches from their proper 
relation to their spiritual guides, it tends to seduce 
from the truth and from the plain path of duty the 
clergy themselves. It places them under the 
strongest temptation to yield up their own princi- 
ples and those of the order to which they belong, 
to place knowledge under the control of ignorance, 
and to subject the established order of the gospel 
to the caprice of self-willed arrogance and pre- 
sumption. It leads to the habit of referring to 
laymen, and to those necessarily ignorant of the 
matter, subjects and questions which belong pro- 
perly to the clergy, and ought to be decided in 
ecclesiastical bodies. In a word, it tends directly 
and inevitably to strip the clergy of all their right- 
ful prerogatives, held as they are, too, and delegated 
solely for the benefit of the church. In other 
words, the clergy are led to yield that which it is 
their solemn duty to retain, and responsibly to 
exercise for the end for which they were qualified 
and put into the ministry. 

3. From the nature of the case, where the 
church is thus seduced from its confidence in the 
established clergy, we are exposed to the incur- 
sion of evangelists who are themselves wandering 
stars, undeserving of personal confidence, and from 
their erratic character irresponsible to any ecclesi- 



638 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 

astical body ; ignorant, conceited and fanatical. 
Such an one, with his petty scheme of empiricism, 
with a boastful proclamation of his numberless 
conversions and testimonies to their genuineness, 
like a medical empiric with his marvellous cures 
and long list of certificates, and with the same 
want of discrimination both as to the nature of 
the disease and the employment of the rightful 
remedies, with the same self-complacency as to 
the superiority and wonderful effects of his own 
petty inventions, the same contemptuous treat- 
ment of those who profess to have any other and 
better knowledge, and still farther, with the same 
cautious avoidance of that inspection or publicity 
which might perchance expose his shallowness, 
will yet find admittance into our churches, break 
up all established order, degrade and disgrace the 
services of the sanctuary, diffuse a spirit of fanati- 
cism within the church, and of contemptuous infi- 
delity without, and then leave the tumult of dis- 
order to settle as it may, while he practises the 
same arts in other regions, with the same lamenta- 
ble and disastrous results. 

How different is all this from the calm and si- 
lent, but laborious and persevering inculcation of 
the truth, by a learned, a wise, a holy and revered 
body of men, in whom the people confide, and 
from whom, with docility, with simplicity and 
meekness, they receive the ingrafted word, which 
is able to save their souls ! And how vastly differ- 
ent is the result upon the intellectual, the moral 
and spiritual character of the community at large ; 



TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 639 

upon the order and decency, the dignity and pro- 
priety, the purity and sacredness, of all the minis- 
trations of religion ! Yet, as evangelism is now 
conducted, it cannot consist with that relation be- 
tween the people and the ministry of the gospel 
which is essential to this state of things, and to the 
best interests of the church. Its tendency is to 
disorder and irregularity, to the discredit of sound 
and healthful instruction, to the dishonoring of the 
Word and Spirit of God, and to the substitution 
of the devices of the human understanding and of 
men; will-worship for that worship which is in 
spirit and in truth. I would not charge upon this 
alone, by any means, all the evils which exist in 
the moral and spiritual condition of our churches. 
But I maintain, that the more superficial, the more 
dead to spiritual things, the more in need our 
churches are of a true and genuine reviving of the 
power and graces of the Spirit, the more danger is 
to be apprehended from the employment in them 
of eccentric and self-confident and irresponsible 
men. The excitement so produced is not the 
awakening they need, and only aggravates the dis- 
ease it is intended to cure. There is no cure for 
it, but the patient and laborious and persevering 
application of the truth, in its nakedness and sim- 
plicity, to the hearts and consciences of men, by 
a ministry whom they know ; in whose simplicity 
and honesty and godly sincerity they confide ; by 
men who have renounced the hidden things of dis- 
honesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling 
the word of God deceitfully ; but, by manifesta- 



640 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 

tion of the truth, commending themselves to every 
man's conscience in the sight of God. By such a 
ministry, as the appointed and authorized instru- 
ments of and co-workers with the Spirit of God, 
the churches may be truly revived, so as to become 
not revival but living churches, and be no longer 
exposed to that " sad mixture of fanaticism and 
knavish imposture " into which the " art of revi- 
val-making " is ready to degenerate, in the pres- 
ent mode of getting up and " conducting " and 
" managing " revivals. 

From these considerations, it seems to me per- 
fectly clear, that it will always be unsafe to em- 
ploy evangelists at all in the way in which it is 
now done, out of the sphere of the ecclesiastical 
bodies with which they are properly connected and 
to which they are responsible. If they are em- 
ployed in any way, the nature of the case seems 
to dictate that it be only in correspondence and in 
unison with their own association or presbytery, 
and within their proper limits. Under such lim- 
itations, they may, perhaps, be employed in the 
destitute churches, and be occasional helpers of 
those who are in the more stated labors of a set- 
tled pastor, without danger of disruption and the 
many evils which attend the course of an erratic 
and transcendent evangelist. 

These views I value chiefly as assigning, accord- 
ing to my humble estimate, their proper and right- 
ful place and dignity and spiritual authority, in re- 
lation to the church and the world, to the regular 
and established clergy. This is the position, 



TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 641 

which, according to divine appointment, and in 
view of the best interests of the church, they un- 
questionably ought to hold ; and whatever inter- 
feres with and dissolves this relation between them 
and the people, is both inexpedient and wrong. 
An established ministry, qualified for their place 
and performing their duties as becomes their sa- 
cred office, deserving the respect and the confi- 
dence of the people by all those qualifications 
which belong to their high and responsible station, 
are entitled to that confidence, and may rightfully, 
nay, must, under the highest responsibility, exer- 
cise those prerogatives with which they are in- 
vested, as the shepherds of the flock. To what 
end are the schools of the prophets, and all that 
laborious discipline, by w r hich, as a matter of duty, 
the minister of God prepares himself, with the aid 
of God's grace and the teachings of his Spirit, for 
the discharge of his high trust, if his judgment is 
to be yielded on all subjects to untaught ignorance 
or presumptuous folly ? To what purpose are our 
associations and conventions, our ministerial inter- 
course and our talk of the vast responsibility that 
rests upon us as having the care of souls, if, after 
all, every question that we are to decide, individ- 
ually or collectively, may be decided for us by 
those who feel no responsibility, and have never 
qualified themselves for the task ? No, brethren ; 
we cannot divest ourselves of our responsibility. 
He who is ordained to the care of souls, is and 
must be responsible for the doctrines which are 
preached in his pulpit ; for the measures, whether 
81 



642 TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 

of order or confusion, that attend, under 1 
charge, the ministrations of the sanctuary. He 
bound to see that nothing be there taught or do 
inconsistent with the established doctrines or or- 
derly ministrations of the ministerial brotherhood 
to which he belongs, and with whom he is a co- 
worker, in the unity of the faith and in the order 
of the gospel. On this ground alone can there be 
any unity, or the existence and continuance of that 
relation of the ministry to the church, which is 
indispensably necessary to the performancf of 
duty, on the one side, and the reception of the ap- 
pointed blessing, on the other. The manifold 
blessings flowing to the church and the world, from 
a ministry thus qualified, thus organized, thus re- 
sponsible, can never be secured by the labor of 
irresponsible and irregular dispensers of truth or 
error, as the case may be ; and when its ends are 
frustrated by such men, no power on earth can 
remedy, no human wisdom foresee, the evils that 
must be the inevitable result. 



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